LIBRARY 

L^NIVERSITY  OP 

SAN  DIEGO 

J 


SELECTED  DRAMAS 

OP 

JOHN    DRYDEN 

WITH 

THE    REHEARSAL 


BY 

GEORGE  VILLIERS 

DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM 


EDITED  WITH 

INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 

BY 

GEORGE  R.  NOYES 

ASSISTANT  PROFESSOR  OP  SLAVIC  LANGUAGES 
IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


CHICAGO  NEW  YORK 

SCOTT,  FORESMAN  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1910 

BY 

SCOTT,  FORESMAN  &  COMPANY 


PREFACE 

The  object  of  the  present  volume  is  to  give  adequate  material 
for  a  study  of  Drjden's  dramatic  work,  particularly  in  its  relation 
to  the  general  history  of  the  English  drama.  The  Rehearsal  is  added 
to  the  examples  of  Dryden's  plays,  not  because  it  had  any  de- 
monstrable influence  on  his  dramatic  work,  but  because  it  illus- 
trates, better  than  reams  of  modern  commentary,  his  prominent 
position,  as  an  object  of  admiration  and  of  ridicule,  among  the 
dramatists  of  his  time. 

An  attempt  has  been  made  to  give  a  critical  text  of  each  of 
Dryden's  dramas  here  printed,  with  variant  readings  from  all  edi- 
tions published  in  his  lifetime,  and  from  the  first  collected  edition 
of  his  dramatic  works,  the  Folio  of  1?01,  published  just  after  his 
death.  The  text  of  the  Scott-Saintsbury  edition  was  first  collated 
with  the  first  edition  of  each  play,  and  next  with  the  Folio,  and  a 
record  was  made  of  all  variants.  Then  these  variants  were  com- 
pared with  the  readings  of  the  quartos  (in  which  form  Dryden's 
separate  plays  were  always  printed)  intermediate  between  the  first 
quarto  and  the  Folio.  In  the  case  of  All  for  Love,  this  process 
showed  progressive  degeneration  of  the  text ;  the  second  quarto 
had  been  printed  from  the  first,  the  third  from  the  second,  and 
the  Folio  from  the  third  quarto.  No  sign  of  author's  corrections 
appeared  at  any  point;  the  variants  were  mere  printers'  errors. 
The  first  quarto  was  therefore  made  the  basis  of  this  edition,  and 
the  variant  readings  justifying  this  choice  were  duly  recorded. 
To  make  a  complete  collation  of  each  quarto  would  have  been  a 
mere  waste  of  time. 

A  similar  procedure  was  adopted  for  The  Conquest  of  Granada, 
though  here  the  question  of  text  was  by  no  means  so  simple.  In 
the  second  edition  of  this  play  Dryden  seems  to  have  made  some 
trifling  changes,  which  disappeared  in  the  later  quartos.  It  did  not 
seem  worth  while,  however,  to  collate  each  line  of  the  second  quarto, 
in  order  to  present  a  complete  list  of  such  changes. 

With  Marriage  a  la  Mode  and  The  Spanish  Friar  the  case  was 
somewhat  dili'erent.  Here  the  Folio  had  evidently  been  printed 
from  the  first  quarto  of  each  play.  Therefore  a  complete  collation 
was  made  of  the  quarto  immediately  preceding  the  Folio,  and  the 
variants  thus  obtained  were  compared  with  the  readings  of  tlie 
intermediate  quartos.     This  process  revealed  degeneration  in  the 

iii 


iv  PREFACE 

quarto  texts  of  both  pla3's,  but  showed  that  in  the  third  quarto  of 
The  Spanish  Friar  Dryden,  or  some  other  person,  had  made  four 
significant  additions  to  the  text,  which  were  retained  in  the  fourth 
quarto,  but  of  course  disappeared  in  the  Folio.  (See  footnotes,  pp. 
332,  339,  345,  358.)  The  first  quarto  of  each  play  was  again 
chosen  as  the  basis  of  the  present  text.  The  long  labor  of  colla- 
tion had  merely  shown  the  general  correctness  of  Malone's  state- 
ment :  "When  Dryden  issued  his  several  works  from  the  press,  he 
in  general  seems  to  have  dismissed  them  from  his  thoughts,  and  to 
have  been  little  solicitous  about  rendering  them  more  perfect."^ 

The  present  text  of  The  Rehearsal  is  taken  from  that  of  the 
first  edition  (1672).  Professor  Arber's  reprint  was  used  as  a 
basis  for  collation.  The  second  edition  has  been  inaccessible.  The 
notes  record  additions  to  the  text  made  in  the  third  and  subse- 
quent editions,  but  leave  unnoticed  small  variations  of  phrase 
caused  by  the  printers'  carelessness.  For  convenience  in  printing, 
the  additions  to  the  text  have  been  combined  with  the  explanatory 
notes  at  the  end  of  the  volume,  instead  of  being  inserted  as  foot- 
notes. 

The  prevailing  fashion  in  reprinting  English  texts  is  to  give 
a  literal  reproduction  of  the  spelling,  italics,  and  capitals  of  the 
early  copies.  Except  in  books  intended  for  professional  philologists, 
this  practice  is  of  no  particular  value,  and  it  certainly  makes  hard 
reading.  There  is  little  gain  in  printing  fix'd  in  one  line  and  fixt 
in  another,  merely  because  Herringman's  compositor  happened  to 
do  so.  In  this  edition  I  aim  to  retain  the  original  form  only  when 
it  indicates  a  pronunciation  different  from  our  own;  thus  I  pre- 
serve muriher,  but  alter  critick  into  critic.  In  cases  of  doubt,  I  pre- 
fer to  err  on  the  side  of  archaism,  so  that  I  keep  inconsistencies  like 
intreat  and  entreat.  I  have  also  kept  the  'd  of  the  past  participle 
(as  lov'd),  since  this  is  the  almost  uniform  usage  of  the  old  texts 
and  is  not  infrequent  in  editions  of  modern  poets.  The  use  of  the 
apostrophe  in  cases  like  th'  army  seems  too  characteristic  of  Dry- 
den's  verse  to  be  abandoned  when  it  occurs  in  the  early  editions; 
the  pronunciation  of  the  times  in  reading  aloud  was  doubtless 
affected  by  the  printed  form. 

Notes  on  the  text  of  Dryden  are  added  at  the  bottom  of  each 
page.  They  aim  to  record  all  essential  variations  among  the  early 
editions,  and  between  them  and  the  most  accessible  modern  editions, 
that  of  Scott,  revised  by  Professor  Saintsburj-,  Edinburgh,  1882-93 
(Ss),  and  that  of  Professor  Saintsbury  in  the  Mermaid  series, 
London,  1904  (M).  In  general,  Ss  and  M  present  Dryden's  text  in 
a  somewhat  modernized  form:  thus  they  substitute  them  for  the  'em 

1.     Prose  Works  of  John  Dryden,  1.  1.  143. 


PEEFACE  V 

of  the  early  editions;  disregard  such  old  spellings  as  sliczv,  murther, 
then  (for  tlian)  ;  and  print  farther  where  the  early  editions  have 
further.  In  prose  passages  they  generally  transform  I'm,  'tis  and 
similar  forms  into  /  am,  it  is,  and  the  like ;  in  verse  they  usually  dis- 
regard such  elisions  as  th'  army,  th'  unfortunate.  In  all  such  cases 
the  present  edition,  making  the  first  quarto  of  each  play  the  basis  of 
its  text,  restores  the  somewhat  inconsistent  usage  of  Dryden's 
publishers.  To  save  space,  such  variations  between  the  present 
edition  and  the  text  of  Ss  and  M  are  omitted  from  the  notes;  all 
others  are  recorded.  Except  in  such  cases,  the  omission  of  Ss  and 
M  from  a  list  of  variants  indicates  that  their  text  agrees  with  the 
present  edition.  Cases  in  which  both  M  and  the  present  edition 
correct  the  text  of  Ss  are  left  unrecorded.  In  the  prose  essays, 
the  readings  of  Professor  Ker  (K)  in  his  Essays  of  John  Dryden 
(Oxford,  1900)  are  also  added.  Some  variations  of  text  in  the 
songs  in  The  Conquest  of  Granada  and  Marriage  a  la  Mode,  which 
were  inadvertently  omitted  from  the  footnotes,  have  been  included 
in  the  notes  at  the  back  of  the  volume.  In  the  Notes  I  have  repeated 
a  few  sentences  from  my  edition  of  Dryden's  Poetical  Works, 
Boston,  1909. 

The  present  edition  was  undertaken  in  1901 ;  its  completion  has 
been  delayed  by  various  causes.  A  postponement  of  the  time  of 
printing,  after  I  had  completed  the  manuscript  of  the  Introduction, 
gave  me  time  to  become  acquainted  with  an  excellent  dissertation 
by  Dr.  Torben  Lundbeck,  Dryden  som  Tragediedigter  (Copen- 
hagen, 1894),  which  covers  in  a  more  extended  form  a  portion  of 
the  ground  of  my  own  essay,  and  anticipates  many  of  my  own  con- 
clusions. Had  i  known  Lundbeck's  work  earlier,  I  should  prob- 
ably have  altered  several  of  my  own  paragraphs,  and  should  have 
expanded  my  treatment  of  certain  topics.  But  since  Lundbeck  has 
not  led  me  to  modify  any  of  the  judgments  that  I  bad  already 
formed  witliout  his  aid,  I  have  let  tlie  body  of  the  Introduction 
stand  practically  unaltered,  adding  to  it  only  a  single  phrase 
(page  1,  lines  13,  14)  ;  I  have,  however,  quoted  several  passages 
from  his  work  in  my  footnotes. 

For  help  in  the  preparation  of  this  book  I  am  indebted  to 
many  friends,  both  near  and  distant.  Professor  Saintsbury  has 
kindly  permitted  me  to  base  my  collations  on  his  revision  of  Scott's 
text/and  to  make  any  further  use  of  his  large  edition  that  I 
might  desire.  Professor  Ker  has  given  me  similar  permission  to 
make  use  of  the  notes  in  his  edition  of  Essays  of  John  Dryden. 
The  authorities  of  the  Harvard  and  the  Yale  Liliraries  have  gen- 
erouslv  sent  me  across  the  continent  the  early  editions  needed  for 
establishing  the  text;  in  particular  :\lr.  T.  J.  Kiornan  and  Mr.  F. 
B.  Dexter  have  shown  me  personal  kindness  extending  far  beyond 


vi  PEEFACE. 

the  limits  of  official  courtesy.  Mr.  E.  H.  Wells,  Curator  of  Mod- 
ern English  Literature  in  the  Harvard  Library,  by  the  zeal  and 
skill  with  which  he  has  expanded  the  Harvard  collection  of  Dry- 
deniana,  has  made  it  possible  for  me  to  base  my  text  and  com- 
mentary nearly  always  on  first-hand  information.  Mr.  W.  H. 
Hagen,  of  New  York,  has  kindly  allowed  me  to  make  a  transcript 
of  his  copy  of  that  very  rare  pamphlet,  Notes  and  Observations  on 
The  Empirss  of  Morocco,  1674;  and  the  officers  of  the  Grolier  Chib 
courteously  extended  to  me  the  privileges  of  their  building  while 
I  was  engaged  in  my  work.  To  my  colleagues.  Professors  C.  M. 
Gayley  and  C.  W.  Wells,  to  Professor  E.  P.  Morton  of  the 
University  of  Indiana,  and  above  all  to  Professor  L.  T.  Damon  of 
Brown  University,  I  am  indebted  for  valuable  suggestions  in  regard 
to  my  Introduction.  Professors  G.  L.  Kittredge,  F.  N.  Robinson, 
and  W.  S.  Ferguson  of  Harvard  University  have  given  me  help  on 
some  questions  relating  to  the  text,  and  Professor  J.  A.  Walz  has 
aided  me  in  some  difficult  portions  of  the  commentary.  Finally, 
all  my  other  debts  for  help  in  preparing  this  volume  are  as  nothing 
compared  to  that  I  owe  my  wife.  She,  as  well  as  I,  has  collated 
every  line  of  the  texts  here  printed,  and  has  read  with  me  every 
line  of  the  proof;  she  has  given  me  valuable  criticism  upon  the 
Introduction  and  the  Notes,  and  has  aided  me  in  other  ways  too 
numerous  for  mention  here. 

G.  R.  K 

Berkeley,  California  December,  10,  l'J09. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

Preface iii 

Introduction  :    Dryden  as  Dramatist ix 

Chronological  List  of  Drydex's  Dramatic  Works Ivi 

The  Conquest  or  Granada  by  the  Spaniards,  Part  I. . .         1 
The  Conquest  of  Granada  by  the  Spaniards,  Part  II. ,       71 

Marriage  a  la  Mode 147 

All  for  Love;   or,  The  World  well  Lost 221 

TiiK  Spanish  Friar;   or,  The  Double  Discovery 305 

The  Rehearsal  385 

Notes  to  The  Conquest  of  Granada 420 

Notes  to  Marriage  a  la  Mode 446 

Notes  to  All  for  Love 453 

Notes  to  The  Spanish  Friar 463 

Notes  to  The  Rehearsal 472 


INTRODUCTION 


DEYDEN  AS  DEAMATIST 

I. 

The  English  authors  of  the  period  from  IGGO  to  ITOO,  with  the 
exception  of  Milton  and  Bimyan,  are  probably  less  read  than  those 
of  any  other  epoch  since  the  Eenaissance.  The  causes  of  our  lack 
of  interest  in  them  are  not  far  to  seek.  The  period  was  one  of  acute 
party  strife,  yet,  unlike  the  time  of  civil  struggle  that  had  just 
passed,  it  produced  few  men  whose  names  live  fresh  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  English-speaking  people.  Milton  and  Bunyan,  though  they 
fall  within  this  period,  are  not  of  it.  They  express,  in  differing 
forms,  the  spirit  of  a  time  already  past.  The  literature  most  closely 
connected  with  the  contemporary  national  life,  a  literature  of  contro- 
versy and  satire,  requires  for  its  comprehension  a  study  of  for- 
gotten political  issues  which  few,  in  America  at  least,  are  likely  to 
undertake;  the  purely  imaginative  literature  of  the  Eestoration,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  composed  under  the  influence  of  a  court  dom- 
inated by  French  fashions,  yet  unable  to  assimilate  the  inner  spirit 
of  the  French  literature  of  le  grand  siecle.  Hence,  not  to  speak  of 
the  indecency  which  continually  disfigures  them,  Eestoration  poets 
and  dramatists  have  a  taint  of  artificiality  and  falseness. 

So  Dryden,  the  poet,  critic,  and  dramatist,  whose  personality 
dominates  almost  the  whole  period  from  1660  to  1700,  is  perhaps  the 
least  known  of  all  the  great  figures  in  the  history  of  English  litera- 
ture. Outside  of  text-books  and  collections  of  "elegant  extracts,"  in 
which  his  historic  fame  secures  for  him  respectful  attention,  he  is 
perhaps  less  read  than  his  garrulous  contemporary  Pepys,  who, 
though  a  man  of  no  pretensions  to  literary  fame,  appeals  to  us  by  his 
frank  humanity.  Dryden's  fame  as  a  critic  has  recently  been 
revived,  and  numerous  editions  of  selections  from  his  prose  essays 
show  that  his  importance  as  one  of  the  founders  of  modern  prose 
style  is  more  clearly  appreciated  than  formerly.  As  a  dramatist, 
however,  though  be  wrote  for  the  theater  during  more  than  thirty 
years,  and  though  his  collected  plays  comprise  nearly  half  his  entire 
work,  Dryden  is  almost  unknown  except  to  professed  students  of 
literary  history.  l\estoration  tragedy,  of  which  Dryden  may  be 
regarded  as  the  leading  writer,  is  peculiarly  open  to  the  imputations 

ix 


X  INTRODUCTION 

of  artificiality,  cxaggGration,  and  false  taste;  and  readers  attracted 
by  the  "corrupt  drama/'  as  Ixestoration  comedy  has  been  politely 
fhristcncd,  prefer  the  wit  and  sparkle  of  Congreve  to  the  clumsier 
work  of  Dry  den. 

Tliough  we  may  admit  the  justice  of  these  imputations  against 
Restoration  literature  as  a  whole,  and  against  Drydcn  and  his 
dramas  in  particular,  we  must  make  some  reservations.  It  is  unsafe 
to  draw  up  an  indictment  against  a  whole  generation,  or  against 
a  single  man  who  had  the  genius  to  become  its  representative. 
;^^cn  and  women  of  Restoration  times  were,  after  all,  somewhat  like 
our  own  friends  and  neighbors,  and  certainly  were  not  content  to  live 
on  mere  literary  chaff  and  straw.  Beneath  the  sounding  phrases 
of  The  Conquest  of  Granada  that  they  alternately  applauded  and 
ridiculed,  we  may  find  true  poetry  and  true  feeling,  beauty  obscured 
bv  gaudy  tinsel,  but  beauty  still;  and  in  its  greater  successor.  All 
for  Love,  we  see  a  worthy  imitation  of  the  classic  French  tragedy 
of  the  best  period.  So  Drydcn's  comedies,  notably  Marriage  a 
la  Mode  and  The  Spanish  Friar,  despite  their  coarseness,  are 
still  bright  and  amusing.  And  finally,  Dryden,  more  truly  than 
Congreve  or  any  other  dramatist  of  his  day,  connects  his  own  time 
with  the  great  Elizabethan  dramatists,  and  makes  ns  feel  that 
English  literature  has  a  continuous  history;  that  the  influx  of 
foreign  taste  and  ideas  only  superficially  affected  the  stream  of 
the  national  life. 

II. 

To  understand  Dryden's  work  as  a  dramatist,  we  must  first 
examine  the  general  conditions  under  which  the  Restoration  drama 
grew  up.  We  shall  find  that  it  developed  under  two  sets  of 
influences:  the  first,  that  of  the  English  national  drama  of  the 
period  before  the  Civil  War;  the  second,  that  of  French  drama, 
romance,  and  criticism. 

In  1660,  when  Charles  11  returned  from  exile,  the  English 
stage  was  freed  from  the  restraints  that  had  lain  upon  it  since 
the  closing  of  the  theaters  by  Act  of  Parliament  in  1643.  A  revival 
of  dramatic  activity  followed  immediately.  But  the  lapse  of 
eighteen  years,  during  which  few  plays  had  been  written  and  almost 
none  performed  in  public,  would  in  itself  have  prevented  this  drama 
from  being  a  direct  continuation  of  that  of  "the  former  age,"  as 
Dryden  calls  the  times  of  Shakspere,  Jonson,  and  Fletcher.  Social 
changes  had  been  unusually  rapid  in  these  eighteen  years.  At  the 
Restoration,  the  drama,  instead  of  being  the  immediate  outgrowth 
of  the  national  life,  as  the  Elizabetlmn  drama  had  been,  became  the 
plaything  of  the  Court,  by  whose  favor  it  had  been  revived.     Not 


DEYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xi 

only  the  extreme  Puritans,  but  all  sober  and  respectable  people 
stayed  away  from  the  theaters,  which  became  marked  by  all  sorts 
of  corruption  and  indecency.^  Courtiers  and  their  imitators,  near 
and  distant,  were  the  chief  supporters  of  the  two  playhouses  of  the 
period,  that  of  the  King's  Company  and  that  of  the  Duke  of  York's 
Company.^ 

The  domination  of  the  Court  over  the  English  drama  brought 
with  it  a  strong  French  influence.  France  in  the  time  of  Louis 
XIV  was  the  most  powerful  nation  in  Europe,  politically,  socially, 
and  intellectually.  Hence  the  Frencli  influence  would  in  any  case 
have  been  strong  in  England,  as  it  was  later  in  Germany,  Italy, 
and  Spain,  and  even  in  Poland  and  Eussia ;  like  the  Italian  influence 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  it  would  have  prevailed  through  its  purely 
intellectual  superiority.  In  England  it  was  given  immediate  cur- 
rency by  the  fact  that  Charles  II  and  many  of  his  courtiers  had 
passed  their  years  of  exile  in  France,  and,  on  returning  to  England, 
brought  with  them  French  fashions  and  French  tastes. 

In  France  there  had  developed  a  drama  of  a  distinct  and  special 
type,  absolutely  different  from  the  Elizabethan  drama  of  Sliakspere 
and  his  successors.  In  general,  it  was  marked  by  a  critical,  reflect- 
ing spirit;  was  constructed  according  to  certain  well-dcflncd  laws; 
and  was  accompanied  by  an  important  critical  literature.  In 
Elizabethan  England  dramatic  criticism  had  been  of  comparatively 
little  weight;  it  was  an  exotic,  opposed  to  the  popular  taste,  and  in 
practice  was  heeded  only  by  a  few  classical  enthusiasts,  chief  among 
whom  was  Ben  Jonson.  In  France,  on  the  contrary,  dramatic 
criticism  imposed  its  laws  on  all  poets  who  cared  for  success  with 
an  educated  audience.  A  long  succession  of  critics,  first  Italian, 
then  French,  had  formulated  a  set  of  rules  for  the  drama,  chief 
among  them  the  famous  three  unities,  of  time,  place,  and  action. 
The  first  of  the  unities  prescribed  that  all  the  events  of  a  drama 
should  take  place  within  one  day ;  the  second,  that  the  place  repre- 
sented on  the  stage  should  not  be  changed  during  the  course  of  the 


1.  "This  night  was  acted  my  Lord  Broghill's  tragedy,  calh^d  iliistapha, 
before  their  Majesties  at  Court,  at  which  I  was  present :  very  seldom  soiuj;  to 
the  public  theaters  for  many  reasons  now,  as  they  were  abused  to  an  atheistical 
liberty:  foul  and  undecent  women  now  (and  never  till  now)  permitted  to  appear 
and  act,  who  inflaming  several  young  noblemen  and  gallants,  became  their  misses, 
and  to  some,  their  wives.  Witness  the  Karl  of  Oxford,  Sir  K.  Howard.  I'rince 
Rupert,  the  Earl  of  Dorset,  and  another  greater  person  than  any  of  them  [the 
King],  who  fell  into  their  snares,  to  the  reproach  of  their  noble  families,  and 
ruin  of  both  body  and  soul." — Evelyn's  Diary,  Oct.  18,  1666. 

2.  On  these  companies,  see  A.  W.  Ward,  Eiuilinh  Dramatic  Literature,  ed.  2, 
iii.  283,  284.  The  interest  of  the  Court  in  the  drama  is  emphasized  by  the 
number  of  noblemen  and  courtiers  who  wrote  for  the  stage.  The  Karl  of  Orrery 
(whose  earlier  title  was  Lord  Hroghill  ;  see  preceding  note),  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, and  Sir  Robert  Howard  are  mentioned  below.  In  addition  to  these  there 
may  be  named  Lord  Kalkland,  the  Karl  of  Bristol.  Sir  Samuel  Tuke,  Sir  Charles 
Sedley,  Sir  Robert  Stapylton.  and  Sir  William  Killigrew.  The  last  two  of  these 
^re  ridiculed  in  The  Rehearsal, 


xii  INTEODUCTION 

play;^  tlie  third,  that  in  each  drama  there  shonkl  be  only  one  plot, 
in  order  tliat  the  attention  of  the  spectators  might  not  be  distracted 
by  subordinate  intrigues.  These  rules,  first  formulated  by  Italian 
commentators  on  Aristotle's  Poetics,  had,  before  the  close  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  become  the  common  property  of  learned  men 
tliroughout  Europe,  and  had  exercised  considerable  influence  on 
practical  dramatists.^  In  France,  after  la  querelle  du  Cid  in  1636, 
they  became  the  guiding  principles  of  a  great  dramatic  literature. 
Looking  back  on  literary  history,  we  can  see  that  the  triumph 
of  these  dramatic  unities  was  due  far  less  to  respect  for  the  classical 
authority  on  which  their  originators  professed  to  base  them,  than  to 
a  general  regard  for  decorum,  restraint,  formal  propriety,  "good 
sense,"  in  all  forms  of  art.  Other  rules,  having  no  basis  whatever 
in  classical  authority,  were  added  to  them.  Thus,  by  the  rule  of 
la  liaison  des  scenes,  the  stage  must  never  be  left  vacant  during 
the  course  of  an  act;  each  character  must  enter  before  his  prede- 
cessor had  left  the  scene.  The  three  unities  inevitably  checked  the 
development  of  action  and  incident  in  the  drama,  and  favored 
psychological  analysis  and  satiric  reflection.  Hence  tragedy  was 
kept  from  being  a  mere  series  of  awe-inspiring  events,  like  Kyd's 
Spanish  Tragedy,  and  became  a  study  of  mental  struggle  during  a 
decisive  moment  of  life.  Since  gallantry  and  patriotism  were  the 
leading  passions  of  Frenchmen  at  the  time,  the  tragic  conflict  was 
ordinarily  between  love  and  duty,  or,  more  usually,  love  and  honor. 
In  comedy  the  rules  did  not  entirely  banish  multiplicity  of  incident, 
but  they  at  least  modified  the  type  of  comic  plot.  Romantic  com- 
edies such  as  .4s  You  Like  It  or  The  Winter's  Tale  would  have  been 
impossible  under  the  French  rules.  The  nearest  approach  to  them 
was  a  comedy  of  domestic  intrigue,  in  which  the  ingenuity  of  the 
dramatist  was  taxed  to  compress  complicated  incident  within  the 
bounds  set  by  the  unities  of  time  and  place.  This  "comedy  of 
intrigue"  was,  however,  largely  due  to  Spanish  influence,^  and 
was  by  no  means  so  typical  of  French  classic  literature  as  the 
"comedy  of  manners,"  to  Avhich  Moliere's  masterpieces  belong. 
Here,  as  in  th-e  tragedies  of  Eacine,  the  action  is  simple  and  of 

1.  The  first  two  unities  were  interpreted  in  various  ways.  The  Ideal  was 
to  have  the  time  of  representation  coincide  with  that  of  the  action  of  the  play. 
Corneille  Is  willing  to  extend  the  time  limit  to  twenty-four  hours  or  a  little  over, 
and  to  regard  any  action  confined  to  the  limits  of  a  single  city  as  conforming  to 
the  unity  of  place.      (See   his  Discours  stir  les   Trois  Unites.) 

2.  See  Spingarn,  Literary  Criticism  in  the  Renaissance,  pp.  89-101,  206-210. 

3.  Hence  plays  of  this  type  in  Restoration  England  were  called  "Spanish 
plots,"  whether  taken  directly' from  Spanish  sources,  or  indirectly,  through  the 
French.  The  best  example  of  them  is  The  Adventures  of  Five  Hours  (1662),  an 
adaptation  from  Calderon  by  Sir  Samuel  Tuke.  Comedies  that,  from  their  in- 
volved plot  and  from  the  surprising  turns  of  fortune  that  occur  in  them,  might 
well  be  called  comedies  of  intrigue,  have  of  course  been  common  in  all  ages  of  the 
drama :  examples  in  Elizabethan  literature  are  Jonson's  Epiccrne  and  The  Al- 
chemist. But  in  these  two  the  Intrigue,  Instead  of  being  made  an  end  in  itself, 
is  subordinated  to  "humorous"  studies  of  character, 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xiii 

comparatively  small  importance.  The  interest  centers  on  a  picture 
of  the  manners  of  society,  as  shown  in  a  series  of  conversations. 
The  tone  is  satirical ;  brilliancy  of  wit  and  keenness  of  observation 
replace  the  vein  of  lyric  poetry  which  characterizes  Shakspere  and 
Calderon.  This  "comedy  of  manners"  has  much  in  common  with 
Ben  Jonson's  "comedy  of  humors;"  but  it  pays  more  attention  to 
social  types,  and  less  to  individual  eccentricities,  and  it  deals  al- 
most exclusively  with  cultivated  court  society. 

Such  were  the  types  of  tragedy  and  comedy  which  the  three 
unities  helped  to  form.  At  the  time,  however,  critics  discussed  the 
dramatic  rules  in  a  purely  mechanical  way,  without  considering 
their  ultimate  results,  which  indeed  they  failed  to  appreciate.  They 
regarded  the  rules  as  laws  imposed,  now  by  the  authority  of  Aris- 
totle, now  by  a  vaguely  understood  "reason"  or  "nature" ;  laws 
which  were  to  be  obeyed  without  hesitation,  like  those  of  the 
Church  or  of  Louis  XIV.  Critics  defended  the  unities  of  time  and 
place  because  of  the  probability  or  realism  that  they  gave  to  the 
dramatic  action ;  a  spectator,  they  argued,  can  more  easily  be- 
lieve that  he  sees  presented  before  him  the  events  of  one  day  in 
one  room  than  that  he  is  watching  those  of  twenty  years  in  several 
countries. 

These  fixed,  definite  types  of  the  French  drama,  these  estab- 
lished critical  principles,  of  necessity  affected  the  practice  of 
Kestoration  dramatists  in  England.  The  courtiers,  who  set  the 
fashion  in  literary  taste,  were  familiar  with  French  dramatic  litera- 
ture and  with  French  criticism,  and  had  themselves  learned  to 
discuss  literary  questions,  not  deeply,  but  with  real  interest.  Many 
noblemen  were  themselves  authors;^  others  prided  themselves  on 
being  patrons  of  literature.  On  the  other  hand,  the  English  tradi- 
tion was  by  no  means  dead.  The  taste  of  the  English  nation  remained 
the  same,  and  the  courtiers  were,  after  all.  Englishmen.  ^lany  men 
still  living  remembered  the  fiourishing  days  of  the  old  drama. 
Hence  revivals  of  Shakspere,  Ben  Jonson,  and  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  were  frequent  on  the  Restoration  stage,^  and  many  Eliza- 
bethan plays  were  made  over  to  suit  the  taste  of  Kestoration 
audiences.^  However  strong  French  influence  might  be,  the  revived 
English  drama  could  be  no  mere  copy  of  its  French  contemporary. 

In  comedy  a  reconciliation  of  the  two  schools  was  made  easier 
by  the  fact  that  even  before  the  closing  of  the  theaters  the  influence 
of  court  life  had  become  prominent  in  the  English  drama,  and  an 

1.  See  p.  xl,  note  2. 

2.  See  Ward.  op.  cit.  ili.  325.  Dryden,  in  his  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy 
(Scott-Saintsbury  edition,  xv.  346).  tells  us  that  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  were 
far  more  frequently  acted  than  Shakspere  or  Ben  Jonson. 

3.  For  details,  see  Ward,  o/).  vit.  iii.  320.  Dryden  himself  joined  Davenant 
in  rewriting  The,  Tempest  (1007),  and  unaided  rewrote  Troiliis  and  Crcssida 
(1C70).  Ilis  .4?;  for  Love  (1678)  owes  much  more  than  Its  subject  to  Antonv 
and   Cleopatra. 


XIV 


INTRODIJCTION 


independent  "'■comedy  of  manners"  had  begun  to  develop.  Some 
of  iSliirley's  plays,  for  example,  distinctly  belong  to  that  type.^ 
And  in  shaping  the  comedy  of  intrigue-  the  direct  influence  of 
Spanish  literature  was  of  some  importance. 

In  the  Eestoration  period,  then,  we  find  at  least  four  types  of 
comedy;  romantic  comedy  and  the  comedy  of  humors,  which  are 
directly  descended  from  the  Elizabethan  drama;  and  the  comedy 
of  intrigue  and  the  comedy  of  manners,  which  are  to  a  large  ex- 
tent derived  from  French  literature.  To  trace  the  rivalry  of  these 
forms,  and  the  gradual  triumph  of  the  last  of  them,  as  best  illus- 
trated in  the  works  of  Congreve,  would  carry  us  beyond  the  limits 
of  our  subject.  We  shall  be  able,  however,  to  notice  some  phases 
of  the  conflict  in  treating  of  Dryden's  comedies. 

French  tragedy  was  not  so  readily  assimilated  by  the  English 
taste.  While  comedy  in  England  had  to  a  certain  degree  been 
approaching  the  French  standards,  tragedy  had  taken  no  such 
course.  Some  English  tragedies  of  the  classical  school,  such  as 
Gorbuduc,  which  Sidney  so  admired,  or  even  Jonson's  Sejanus  and 
Catiline,  had  been  of  a  type  somewhat  like  fhe  French.  But  even 
in  their  own  times  these  works  had  been  appreciated  only  by  persons 
of  a  trained  literary  taste.  The  general  tendency  was  away  from 
these  stiff  and  dignified  tragedies  to  plays  more  full  of  action,  and 
marked  by  the  expression  of  tumultuous  passion  rather  than  by 
careful  analysis  of  restrained  emotion.  Hence  the  French  tragedy, 
with  its  long  speeches,  its  avoidance  of  action  on  the  stage,  its  strict 
observance  of  decorum,  and  its  analysis  of  high  and  courtly  senti- 
ment, was  at  first  imitated  by  English  writers  only  in  external 
details.  English  poets  might  use  the  heroic  couplet  and  observe 
the  unities — and  for  this  they  found  some  warrant  in  their  English 
predecessors — but  they  were  at  first  unable,  or  rather  did  not 
attempt,  to  assimilate  the  spirit  of  French  tragedy.^  They  w^ere 
more  afl'ected  by  a  totally  different  branch  of  French  literature,  to 
which  we  must  now  turn  our  attention,  the  romances. 

In  France,  early  in  the  seventeenth  century,  after  the  close  of 
the  long  civil  wars,  there  had  arisen  a  passion  for  culture  and  refine- 
ment, for  elaborate  ceremonial  manners.  At  this  time  the 
romances  of  chivalry  were  revived  in  a  form  modified  by  contem- 

1.  See  Professor  Saintsbury,  in  his  Introduction  to  his  edition  of  Dryden's 
plays  in  the  Mermaid  Series,  pp.  7,  8.  But  Professor  Saintsbury  seems  to  under- 
estimate the  importance  of  the  French  inllucnce  on  the  Restoration  drama. 

2.  The  comedy  of  intrigue  is  somewhat  difficult  to  distinguish  as  a  separate 
type,  since  it  inevitably  tends  to  combine  either  with  the  comedy  of  humors  or 
with  the  comedy  of  manners.  No  pure  example  of  it,  comparable  to  Tuke's 
Advetiturcs  of  Fire  Hours,  can  l)o  found  in  Dryden.  But  one  feels  a  difference 
between  his  Marriage  a  la  Mode,  with  its  emphasis  on  what  is  done,  and  the 
comedies  of  Congreve,  with  their  almost  exclusive  interest  in  manners. 

3.  Orrery  is  an  exception  to  this  statement.  He  will  be  considered  la 
detail  later. 


DRYDEN  as  dramatist  x^^ 

porary  French  ideals.  Calprenede,  Mile,  de  Scudery,  and  others 
delighted  the  world  with  interminable  narratives  modeled  partly 
on  the  old  stories  of  the  knights,  but  more  on  the  later  pastoral 
romances,  such  as  the  Astree  (1610-27)  of  d'Urfe.  The  new 
romances,  such  as  Cassandre,  Ihrahim,  Le  Grand  Cyrus}  might 
have  their  setting  in  ancient  Greece  or  Persia,  or  in  barbarian 
Turkey;  no  matter  what  the  scene,  they  aimed  to  express,  without 
any  pretense  at  realism,  and  with  an  extravagance  of  action 
wholly  mediaeval,  the  ideas  of  the  most  cultivated  Parisian  society. 
Of  human  feelings  in  their  heroes  they  practically  recognized  only 
two,  love  and  fidelity  to  chivalric  honor,  the  typical  emotions  of  a 
courtly  lover;  and  they  derived  much  of  their  interest  from  the 
finespun,  "precious"  analysis  of  those  two  passions.  Each  romance 
ends  with  the  union  of  two  lovers,  after  a  wooing  lasting  many_^ 
years  and  some  dozen  volumes.  The  memory  of  Le  Grand  Cyrus  ' 
and  its  fellows  is  now  kept  green  mainly  by  the  ridicule  heaped 
upon  them  by  Moliere  and  Boileau.  But  however  much  the  gro- 
tesque, exaggerated  style  of  Calprenede  may  differ  from  the  classic 
dignity  and  restraint  of  Eacine,  the  fundamental  ideas  of  the  two 
authors  are  essentially  the  same. 

The  flourishing  time  of  the  French  romances  coincided  with 
the  Civil  War  and  the  Protectorate  in  England,  and  with  the  eclipse 
of  the  English  drama.  Hence  they  were  welcomed  by  the  English 
gentry,  who  found  in  these  most  unreal  of  fictions  a  relief  from 
their  ov^n  actual  sufferings.  Polexandre,  the  first  of  them,  was 
translated  into  English  in  1647,  and  from  that  time  on  the  i)rin- 
cipal  French  romances  all  found  an  English  dress.  The  Earl  of 
^Orrery,  John  Crowne  the  dramatist,  and  others  wrote  fictions  of 
their  own  in  imitation  of  the  French  manner.-  The  principal 
influence  of  these  romances  on  English  literature,  however,  showed 
itself  not  in  the  novel,  but  in  the  drama,  where  they  were  the  chief 
cause  of  the  development  of  the  bombastic  '^heroic  plays."  The 
absurdities  of  plot,  sentiment,  and  expression  that  pervaded  the 
French  romances,  but  were  checked  on  the  French  stage  by 
critical  good  taste,  soon  found  their  way  into  English  tragedy,  where 
they  were  at  first  not  opposed  by  any  similar  critical  spirit. 

In  fact,  the  natural  development  of  the  English  drama  aided 
the  introduction  of  these  French  extravagances.  As  early  as  1610, 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  had  already  begun,  in  plays  such  as 
Philasier,  The  Maid's  Tragedy,  and  A  King  and  No  King,  to 
reflect  the .  tone  of  artificial  court  life  rather  than  the  deeper 
aspirations  of  the  people;^  had  replaced  love  by  artificial  gallantry, 

1.  The  dalos  of  somo  of  the  most  important  of  thrsp  romnncos  nro  as 
follows:  PoU'Tandre,  by  Gomhorvlllo,  1629:  Ibrahim,  by  Mile,  do  SciHU'Ty.  I'-y  '• 
Cansuiidic.  bv  Cnlpivnf'dc.  1(14 2-4 r.  ;  Le  (hinitl  Ciinix.  by  Mllo.  do  Scudery,  ltJ4S-j.i. 

2.  Soo  ■Uiiloi-h.   77(r   Eiu/Ush   .\orvl,  pp.   S7-10!t. 

3.  Compare  what  bas  been  said  on  comedy,  pp.  xlli,  xlv. 


j^.j  INTRODUCTION 

and  patriotism  by  a  pompous  loyalty  to  the  reigning  sovereign.' 
Tliis  departure  from  the  vigorous  sincerity  of  the  Elizabethan 
drama  became  more  marked  in  the  plays  of  Sir  William  Daven- 
ant  (1606-C8),  one  of  the  few  dramatists  who  wrote  both  before 
the  closing  of  the  theaters  and  after  the  Eestoration.  His  plays, 
Love  and  Honor  (1634)  and  The  Unfortunate  Lovers  (1638),  by 
the  bombastic  stvle  of  certain  passages  in  them,  and  by  the  strained, 
artificial  tone  of  the  sentiment  pervading  them,  distinctly  fore- 
sliadow  the  heroic  manner.-  But  it  is  only  in  his  Siege  of  Rhodes 
that  we  find  the  real  beginning  of  the  English  heroic  play. 

Dryden  in  his  Essay  of  Heroic  Plays  has  given  us  a  good  account 
of  The  Siege  of  Rhodes  and  of  his  own  indebtedness  to  it.  One 
paragraph  of  this  essay  is  especially  important: 

"For  heroic  plays,^  (in  which  only  I  have  us'd  it  [rimed  verse] 
without  the  mixture  of  prose,)  the  first  light  we  had  of  them  on 
the  English  theater  was  from  the  late  Sir  William  Davenant.  It 
being  forbidden  him  in  the  rebellious  times  to  act  tragedies  and 
comedies,  .  .  .  he  was  forc'd  to  turn  his  thoughts  another  way, 
and  to  introduce  the  examples  of  moral  virtue,  writ  in  verse,  and 
perform'd  in  recitative  music*  The  original  of  this  music,  and 
of  the  scenes  which  adorn'd  his  work,'^  he  had  from  the  Italian 
operas;  but  he  heigh ten'd  his  characters,  (as  I  may  probably 
imagine,)  from  the  example  of  Corneille  and  some  French  poets. 
In  this  condition  did  this  part  of  poetry  remain  at  his  Majesty's 
return;  when,  growing  bolder,  as  being  now  own'd  by  a  public 
authority,  he  review'd  his  Siege  of  Rhodes,  and  caus'd  it  to  be 
acted  as'^  a  just  drama."  But  as  few  men  have  the  happiness  to 
begin  and  finish  any  new  project,  so  neither  did  he  live  to  makehis 
design  perfect.  There  wanted  the  fulness  of  a  plot  and  the  variety 
of  characters  to  form  it  as  it  ought ;  and,  perhaps,  something  might 
have  been  added  to  the  beauty  of  the  style.  All  which  he  would 
have  perform'd  with  more  exactness,  had  he  pleas'd  to  have  given 
us  another  work  of  the  same  nature.''^ 


1  Professor  J.  W.  Tapper,  in  an  article  on  "Tlie  Relation  of  the  Heroic 
riav  to  the  Romances  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher"  (Publications  of  the  Modern 
Laii<iua(i€  AsKociation  of  America.  inOo,  vol.  xx,  pp.  584-621)  shows  that  some 
traits  oif  the  hernlc  manner  were  already  found  before  the  closing  of  the  theaters. 
He  seems   to   exaggerate,   however,   the   resemblance  between   the   later  and  the 

earlier  drama.  ,    .,      »^       .     „,       .       t,     <, 

2.     See   an  excellent   article  on    The  Rise  of  the  Heroic  Plaii  by    Professor 

C.  G.  Child,  in  Modern  Laiujuage  Notes  for  June,   1004,  pp.  166-173. 
I  3:     The  term   Is  first  used  by   Davenant,  in   his  dedication   to  The  Siege  of 

I       Rhodes  in  the  edition  of  166.3. 

4.  The  Siege  of  Rhodes  was  allowed  to  be  acted  in  1656,  on  the  pretense 
that  it  was  not  a  drama,  but  a  musical  entertainment. 

5.  More  elaborate  scenery  was  used  at  this  time  than  had  ever  before  been 
known  In  England.  ,   ,    ^,      ^     ^ 

6.  Davenant  added  a  second  part  and  somewhat  expanded  the  first  part. 
The  revised  plav  was  acted  in  1662  and  published  in  1663. 

7.  See  pp.'  7,  8. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xvU 

The  Siege  of  Rhodes  is  written  partly  in  rimea  verse  of  an 
irregular  "Pindaric"  structure/  partly  in  the  heroic  couplet  that  J 
had  again  come  into  fashion  for  narrative  poetry.  The  ludicrous 
plot  brings  into  strong  relief  the  recJ<less  valor  of  Alphonso,  a 
Sicilian  duke,  the  magnanimity  of  Solyman,  Sultan  of  Turkey,  and 
the  peerless,  irresistible  beauty  and  virtue  of  lanthe,  wife  of 
Alphonso.  The  intrigue  in  the  first  part  depends  on  the  sudden, 
brainless  jealousy  of  Alphonso;  in  the  second  part,  upon  the  jeal- 
ousy of  Iioxolana,  wife  of  Solyman.  There  are  no  comic  scenes, 
such  as  occur  in  Love  and  Honor  and  The  Unfortunate  Lovers. 
Furthermore,  Davenant  took  "liis  types  of  character,  motives  of 
dramatic  action,  heroic  sentiment,"  and  suggestions  for  his  plot, 
from  the  Ibrahim  of  Mile,  de  Scudery.  Solyman  and  Koxolana 
come  directly  from  the  romance,  and  Alphonso  is  modeled  on  the 
hero  Ibrahim.-  This  fact  shows  the  heroic  plays  to  be  in  their  very 
origin  closely  connected  with  the  French  romances,  on  which  they 
continued  to  depend  in  somewhat  the  same  way  that  Shakspere's 
Eoman  tragedies  depended  on  Plutarch.  The  agreement  of  the 
two  types  in  sentiment  and  characterization  is  something  more 
than  the  result  of  similar  social  conditions  in  England  and  France, 

The  Siege  of  Rhodes  was  half-operatic  in  character,^  probably 
owing  its  success  to  the  music  which  accompanied  it,  and 
to  its  spectacular  effect.  Paying  no  attention  to  French 
theatrical  decorum,  which  would  allow  no  violent  action  on  the 
stage,  not  even  the  death  of  a  single  character,  Davenant  gives  a 
representation  of  a  general  assault  on  the  city  of  Rhodes.*  Thus 
he  prepares  the  way  for  the  scenes  of  tumult  which  crowd  one 
after  another  in  21ie  Conquest  of  Granada.  Though  dances  are 
not  specifically  mentioned  in  the  stage-directions,  they  were 
probably  introduced  to  heighten  the  general  spectacular  effect.^ 

Since  this  use  of  rimed  verse  in  a  serious  drama  proved  suc- 
cessful, both  as  a  novelty  and  as  suitable  to  the  stilted  character 

1.  See  Drydcn,  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy,  Ss.  xv.  365. 

2.  The  discovery  of  this  fact  is  duo  to  I'rofessor  Child  (op.  cit.),  from 
whom  the  phrase  in  quotation  marics  is  talten. 

3.  It  has  been  called  the  tirst  ICnglish  opera.  See  lor  example  L.  N. 
Chase.  The  Eni/lish  Heroic  Play,  New  York,  100:{,  p.  204.  The  quostion  depends 
upon  the  definition  of  opera.  I-'ollowing  Drydon  we  have  a  right  to  regard  The 
Hicye  of  Rhodes,  at  least  as  revised  in  1662,  as  "a  just  drama."' 

4.  See  The  tiiroc  of  Rhodes.  Part  I,  the  Fifth  Entry  ;  and  compare  The 
Rehearsal,  pp.  422,  423,  II.  142 — 227. 

5.  See  Ward.  op.  cit.  iii.  324,  325 ;  and  Dryden,  prologue  to  The  Riial 
Ladies   (Ss.  il.  141)  : 

You  now  have  habits,  dances,  scenes,  and  rimes ; 

High  language  often  ;  aye,  and  sense,  sometimes. 
and  also  in  The  Rival  Ladies,  act  III,  sc.  1  (Ss.  11.  17S)  : 

Desire  tbem 

They  would  leave  out  the  word,  and  fall  to  dancing. 

Tlie  poetry  of  the  foot  takes  most  of  late. 
These   quotations   illustrate   the    general    enthusiasm   at    the   time   for   the   ballet, 
and  it  is  fair  to  conclude  that  The  tHeyc  of  Rhodes  helped  to  set  the  fashion. 


jcviil  iNTEODUCTIO^f 

of  the  emotions  treated,  it  was  soon  adopted  by  other  writers,  and 
for  plays  unaccompanied  by  music,  liogcr  Boyle,  Earl  of  Orrer}'^, 
seems  to  have  been  the  first  Englishman  to  write  a  regular  tragedy 
entirely  in  the  heroic  couplet.  Though  not  quite  certain,  it  is  at 
least  highly  probable  that  one  or  more  of  his  dramas  had  been  writ- 
ten, and  had  become  known  to  the  literary  public,  before  the  compo- 
sition of  Dryden  and  Howard's  Indian  Queen,  which,  as  we  shall  see 
later,  was  acted  in  January,  1664.^  Of  one  of  his  plays  Orrery 
says  in  a  private  letter  (date  unknown)  : 

"I  have  now  finished  a  play  in  the  French  manner,  because  I 
heard  the  King  does  declare  himself  more  in  favor  of  their  way  of 
writing  than  ours.  My  poor  example  cannot  please  his  Majesty, 
but  my  example  may  incite  others  who  can.  Sir  ^yilliam  Davenant 
will  have  it  acted  about  Easter ;  and,  as  it  is  wrote  in  a  new  way.  he 
may  possibly  take  confidence  to  invite  the  King  to  see  it." 

This  quotation — which  also  illustrates  the  dependence  of  the 
Restoration  drama  on  the  taste  of  King  and  Court — shows  that, 
however  much  Dryden  might  later  defend  the  use  of  rime  in  the 
drama  by  an  appeal  to  early  English  and  to  Spanish  and  Italian 
precedents,  Orrery  regarded  his  own  adoption  of  the  heroic  couplet 
as  a  distinct  imitation  of  French  fashions.  Furthermore,  Mus- 
iapha,  one  of  Orrery's  plays,  derives  its  plot  and  principal  charac- 
ters from  Ihraliim.  the  same  romance  from  which  Davenant  had 
taken  The  Siege  of  Rhodes. 

1.  The  chronology  of  Orrery's  plays  is  not  easy  to  determine.  Pepys  in 
his  Diary  for  August  13,  1604,  speaks  of  Henry  V  as  "the  new  play."  Miistapha 
was  probably  first  produced  in  1GU.3,  but  possibly  in  1663  :  see  the  discussion  by 
Professor  Child  in  the  article  already  referred  to.  Pepys  in  his  Diary  for 
October  19,  1607,  calls  The  Black  Prince  "my  Lord  Orrery's  new  play,"  and 
tells  how  it  was  damned  at  the  first  representation. 

Orrery's  plays  were  published  for  the  first  time  in  a  collected  edition  by 
Dodsley  in  1730.  The  anonymous  preface  is  probably  by  Dodsley  himself.  In  it 
wo  find  the  quotation  from  a  letter  by  Orrery  that  I  have  cited  in  the  text, 
Introduced  by  the  following  passage :  "The  Black  Prince  was  the  first 
play  which  my  Lord  of  Orrery  brought  upon  the  stage  ;  and,  in  a  letter  to  one 
of  his  friends,  he  mentions  it  in  these  words."  The  preface  proceeds  to  state 
that  "The  Black  Prince  was  acted  accordin;jly,  and  [thatl  it  met  with  the 
approbation  of  the  King  and  consequently  of  the  Court,"  and  that,  "encouraged 
by  the  success  of  The  Black  Prince,"  Orrery  later  wrote  Tryphon,  Henry  V, 
Mustapha,  and  Herod  the  Great.  Now  Pepys  can  hardly  have  been  mistaken  in 
saying  that  the  failure  of  The  Black  Prince  which  he  witnessed  was  at  its  first 
representation.  Hence  three  suppositions  are  possible.  (1)  Dodsley's  preface 
may  have  no  authority  at  all,  and  the  letter  quoted  in  it  may  be  a  forgery. 
{-)  The  Black  Prince  may  really  have  been  the  first  written  of  Orrery's  plays, 
and  the  production  of  it  anticipated  in  the  letter  may  have  been  delayed  for 
several  years.  (3)  The  letter  iiuoted  by  Dodsley  may  refer  to  some  other  play 
than  The  Black  Prince,  and  Dodsley  may  have  entirely  confused  the  order  of  the 
plays.  The  first  of  these  guesses  seems  the  least  likely  and  the  third  the  most 
likely  to  be  true. 

Orrery's  plays  were  apparently  circulated  in  manuscript  for  some  time  before 
publication.  Henry  V  is  said  by  Mr.  T.  F.  Henderson  (in  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography)  to  have  been  printed  in  KitSS,  but  the  British  Museum 
Catalogue  records  no  edition  before  1669,  in  which  year  Mustapha,  The  Black 
Prince,  and  Tryphon  were  also  published. 

Orrery's  work  is  discussed  in  some  detail  in  a  study  by  Eduard  Siegert, 
Roger  Boyle,  Earl  of  Orrery,  mid  seine  Dramen,  Vienna,  1906  (in  Wiener 
Beitrage  zur  Englischen  Philblogie). 


DftYDEN  Afe  DRAMATIST  xix 

Lord  Orrery's  dramas  resemble  The  Siege  of  Rhodes  and 
Dryden's  heroic  plays  only  in  being  written  in  rime.  They  are 
quiet,  tender,  and  subdued  in  tone;  and  evidently  attempt,  like 
Dryden's  All  for  Love,  of  wliicli  we  fehall  speak  later,  to  reproduce 
the  essential  qualities  of  French  tragedy.  When  Orrery  wrote  that 
he  had  "finished  a  play  in  the  French  manner,"  he  referred  to  other 
things  beside  the  jingle  of  his  couplets.  In  his  tragedies,  which  are 
never  bombastic,  always  dignified,  and  sometimes  interesting,  he 
preserves  almost  perfectly  the  French  tlieatrical  decorum;  like 
Eacine,  he  describes  battles  and  scenes  of  horror,  instead  of  bring- 
ing them  on  the  stage.^  Orrery  is  without  influence  on  the  subse- 
quent development  of  the  heroic  plays,  to  which  type  his  own  works 
hardly  belong.  He  merely  helped  to  give  currency  to  the  use  of 
rime  in  the  serious  drama.- 

III. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  take  up  Dryden's  own  dramatic 
work,  which  may  l)e  conveniently  divided  into  three  periods.  In 
the  first  period,  from  1003  to  1670,  after  some  dramatic  experi- 
ments, Dryden  found  in  the  heroic  plays  a  congenial  type  of 
drama,  and  in  1670  won  his  greatest  popular  triumph  with  The 
Conquest  of  Granada.  In  tlie  second  period,  from  ]()70  to  1678, 
Dryden  saw  his  favorite  productions  assailed  with  bitter  ridicule 
in  The  Echearsal,  and  his  own  supremacy  in  them  shaken  by  the 
success  of  Elkanah  Settle,  an  adversary  whom  he  could  not  but 
despise.  Moreover,  his  own  taste  was  becoming  more  mature,  and 
he  was  undoubtedly  intluenccd  !)y  the  study  of  contemporary  French 
critics.  Hence  during  this  period  he  gradually  purified  his  style 
of  its  earlier  extravagance  and  bombast,  and  modified  his  ideas 
of  what  a  tragedy  sliould  Ije.  In  167S  he  produced  his  masterpiece, 
All  for  Love,  in  which  he  imitated  the  style  of  Shakspere,  but  the 
dramatic  technique  of  the  French  tragedians.  In  the  third  period 
Dryden  was  no  longer  primarily  a  dramatist;  though  he  produced 
some  plays,  such  as  Tlie  Spanish  Friar  and  Don  Sebastian,  equal  in 
literary  merit  to  those  of  his  earlier  life,  he  made  no  progress  either 
in  style  or  in  dramatic  theory.  In  1693,  on  the  failure  of  Love 
Triumphant,  he  abandoned  the  stage  in  disgust.  These  three 
periods  we  shall  now  consider  in  detail. 

I.  At  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  in  1660,  John  Dryden  was 
already  twenty-nine  years  old,  but  had  as  yet  written  nothing  of 

1.  Some  floaths  occur  on  the  stage,  but  all,  so  to  speak,  very  <iuict  and 
orderly.  In  Muntai)ha,  for  examiile.  the  hero  kills  two  of  the  mutes  sent  to 
execute  him,  a  mere  whisper  in  comparison  to  the  clamorous  uproar  of  Tho 
Cotujuvst  of  Grunailu. 

2.  I  .TKicc  cniiri'lv  with  Professor  Chilt],  in  opposition  to  Ilolzhausen  In 
Englischc  HtudUit,  xiU.  416,  423. 


«  INTRODUCTION 

permanent  value.  He  had  settled  in  London  in  1657  and  had  begun 
to  eke  out  his  scanty  income  by  occasional  poems  and  by  hack  work 
for  the  bookseller  Herringman.  For  the  drama  he  probably  felt  no 
great  inclination  and  no  peculiar  fitness  ;^  but  he  soon  turned  to  it, 
and  first  of  all  to  comedy,  as  the  branch  of  literature  which  offered  a 
young  author  the  easiest  means  of  livelihood.  His  first  play. 
The  Wild  Gallant,  acted  early  in  1663,  failed  on  the  stage,  and  was 
revised  before  it  was  printed  in  1G69.  Though  Tlie  Wild  Gallant 
has  small  literary  merit,  it  gives  us  a  clear  idea  of  Dryden's 
methods  when  he  began  his  dramatic  career.  In  this  comedy, 
Avhich  is  written  in  prose,  he  attempted  to  combine  a  complicated 
*' Spanish  plot,"  borrowed  from  some  unknown  author,  possibly 
French,  with  scenes  imitated  from  Jonson's  comedy  of  humors,  and 
wit  combats  suggested  by  Fletcher.  The  action  occupies  only  two 
days,  and  the  scene  does  not  depart  from  London,  so  that  the  unities 
of  time  and  place  are  fairly  well  observed.  In  the  prologue  Dryden 
boasts : 

This  play  is  English,  and  the  growth  your  own; 
As  such,  it  yields  to  English  plays  alone. 

Thus  in  his  first  drama  Dryden  was  a  follower  of  the  English  tradi- 
tion. Lacking  originality,  he  tried  to  unite,  in  a  plot  of  a  fashion- 
able type,  the  characteristic  methods  of  Jonson  and  of  Fletcher. 
Even  in  observing  the  unities,  he  was  probably  guided  by  the  ex- 
ample of  Jonson  quite  as  much  as  by  that  of  the  French  dramatists. 
Dryden's  second  play.  The  Rival  Ladies,  acted  late  in  1663  or 
early  in  1664,  and  printed  in  the  latter  year,  is  likewise  a  comedy 
of  involved  Spanish  plot,  but  is  written  in  verse,  and,  in  contrast 
to  the  vulgar  realism  of  its  predecessor,  is  filled  with  a  romantic, 
poetic  spirit.  Furthermore,  some  scenes  of  it  arc  written  in  the 
"new  way"-  of  the  heroic  couplet.  About  the  same  time  Dryden 
joined  his  brother-in-law,  Sir  Robert  Howard,  in  the  composition 
of  The  Indian  Queen,  a  tragedy  written  entirely  in  this  same  "new 
way."^  That  Dryden  and  Howard  were  affected  by  the  example  of 
the  Earl  of  Orrery  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  on  the  publication  of 


1.  Soe  the  passage  quoted  below  from  the  dedication  of  Aureng-Zcbe,  p, 
xli,  note  1,  and  also  Defense  of  an  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy,  Ss.  ii.  297,  298. 
(Drydon  is  cited  by  the  Scott-Saintshury  edition.  l)iit  the  spellins;  of  quotations 
conforms  to  the  standards  adopted  in  this  volume,  and  where  possible  the  text 
even  of  short  quotations  has  been  corrected  by  the  original  editions.) 

2.  See  dedication  of  The  Rival  Ladies,  Ss.  ii.  l.'>4. 

3.  It  is  impossible  to  say  which  of  these  plays  appeared  first :  Dryden  may 
have  been  ens;!  ged  on  them  both  at  the  same  time.  Pepys  in  his  Diary  for 
January  27.  1604,  mentions  "the  new  play.  The  Indian  Queen,  which  for  show, 
they  say,  exceeds  Ilrnry  the  Eiqhth."  (Oompaie  note  on  The  Rehearsal,  p. 
418,  1.  4.)      As  to  the  date  of  the  other  play  Malone  says:     "The  Rival  Ladies 

probably  was  exhibited  in  the  winter  of  1063.  being  entered  on  the 
Stationers'  Bool<s,  June  5,  1664  ;  and  it  not  being  customary  at  that  time  to 
commit  plays  to  the  press  till  they  had  run  their  course  on  the  stage."  (Prose 
^yorks  of  John  Dryden,  I.  i.  57.) 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxi 

The  Rival  Ladies  in  1664  Dryden  wrote  a  Dedication  to  that  noble- 
man, in  wliich  he  defends  rime  in  the  drama  by  the  same  argu- 
ments that  he  afterwards  elaborated  in  his  Essay  of  Dramatic 
Poesy. ^  Then,  encouraged  by  the  success  of  2'he  Indian  Queen, 
Dryden,  unaided  by  Howard,  wrote  a  sequel  to  it,  The  Indian 
Emperor,  acted  in  1665. 

The  Indian  Queen  and  The  Indian  Emperor  continue  the 
succession  of  heroic  plays  begun  by  The  Siege  of  Rhodes.  They 
have  essentially  the  same  characteristics  as  the  later  Conquest  of 
Granada,  of  which  an  analysis  follows  below.  Briefly,  they  retain 
the  brisk,  bustling  action,  exaggerated  sentiment,  and  disre- 
gard of  stage  decorum  of  The  Siege  of  Rhodes,  but  add  '"fullness 
of  plot,"  ''variety  of  characters,"  "beauty  of  style,"  and  super- 
natural machinery,  all  imitated  from  fashionable  epic  poetry.  As 
Dryden  himself  tells  us,  he  wrote  under  the  inspiration  of  Ariosto 
and  Tasso,  whom  he  admired  more  than  he  did  Calprenede.  Thus 
the  heroic  plays,  once  started  on  their  course,  grew  up  under  the 
influence  of  purer  models  than  the  French  romances.  The  form 
of  their  verse,  the  necessity,  in  a  drama,  for  compression  of  plot, 
and  the  bent  of  Dryden's  own  genius,  all  tended  to  separate  them 
in  style  from  their  prose  sources,  and  to  bring  them  nearer  the 
Italian  epic  poems.  Finally,  The  Indian  Queen  and  The  Indian 
Emperor  were  show  plays,  made  attractive  by  scenery,  costumes, 
dances,  and  songs.-  The  latter  play  definitely  established  Dryden's 
reputation  as  a  leader  among  the  English  dramatists  of  his  time. 

In  1665  the  Great  Plague  invaded  London,  and  the  theaters 
were  closed  until  the  last  months  of  1666.^  During  his  enforced 
retirement  to  the  country,  Dryden  wrote  his  first  long  prose  work. 
An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy, '^  which  remains  his  most  important 

1.  other  Restoration  dramatists  had  already  made  some  use  of  the  heroic 
couplet ;  for  example.  Sir  Samuel  Tuke  in  some  scenes  of  his  Adventures  of  Five 
Hours,  acted  in  1662.  Saintsbury  in  his  introduction  to  the  Mermaid  Dryden 
points  out  that  rime  is  also  found  occasionally  iu  some  plays  of  dramatists  who 
wrote  just  before  the  closing  of  the  theaters,  for  example  in  The  Vinjin  Widow 
of  Quarles.  (Quarles  died  in  1644;  his  play  was  not  printed  till  1649.)  He 
cites  also  the  plays  of  Gofife,  to  which  I  am  unable  to  refer.  But  Dryden,  in  his 
many  arguments  "on  the  question  of  rime  in  the  drama,  never  cit(^s  these  obscure 
predecessors  ;  nor,  except  for  the  possible  parody  of  The  Vir<jin  Widow  In  Tho 
Rehearsal,  have  1  found  references  to  them  irj  other  Restoration  dramatists.  1 
see  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  French  influence  was  the  chief  cause  of  the 
adoption  of  rime  in  the  heroic  plays.  Perhaps  the  frequent  use  of  the  couplet 
for  narrative  heroic  poetry,  as  in  Cowley's  Davidein,  helped  to  establish  It  In 
the  heroic  dr.ima. 

2.  See  Pepys  on  The  Indian  Queen,  quoted  on  p.  xx,  n.   3. 

3.  Downes  says  that  the  theater  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  was  closed  in 
May,  166.5.  (Roscius  Anqliranux,  ed.  Knight,  1S.S6.  p.  '26.)  The  Theater  Royal 
must  have  been  closed  at  about  the  same  time.  On  November  20,  1666,  Pepys 
writes  : 

"Then  to  church,  it  Ijelng  thanksgiving-day  for  the  cessation  of  the  plague : 
but.  Lord  I  hnw  the  town  do  say  that  it  is  hasttned  before  the  plague  fs  quite 
over,  there  dying  some  people  still,  but  only  to  get  ground  for  plays  to  be 
puidicly  acted,  which  the  Bishops  would  not  suffer  till  the  plague  was  over." 

4.  First   printed  in   166S. 


„ji  INTRODUCTION 

contribution  to  dramatic  criticism.  In  it  he  attempts  a  survey  of 
the  tlioator  of  the  ancients  (Greeks  and  Eomans),  tlie  French,  and 
the  Knglisli,  with  special  reference  to  conteiii]>orary  conditions. 
From  its  clear,  simple,  yet  elegant  style,  and  its  tine  critical  appre- 
ciations, particularly  of  Shakspere  and  Jonson,  this  treatise  is  of 
prime  importance  in  the  history  of  English  prose  and  of  English 
criticism,  and  has  received  due  attention  from  recent  scholars. 
Less  heed  has  been  paid  to  the  fact  that,  like  Dryden's  other 
critical  works,  the  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  is  an  occasional  pro- 
duction, designed  to  justify  its  author's  dramatic  methods,  and, 
above  all,  his  heroic  plays.  It  contains  three  main  lines  of 
argument : — 

(1)  Dryden  himself  tells  us  in  his  note  To  the  Reader:  "The 
drift  of  the  ensuing  discourse  was  chiefly  to  vindicate  the  honor 
of  our  English  writers  from  the  censure  of  those  who  unjustly 
prefer  the  French  before  them."  This  he  accomplishes  by  masterly 
criticisms  of  Shakspere,  Ben  Jonson,  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
In  general,  he  dismisses  the  ancient  theater  as  deserving  only  a 
sentimental  respect,  and  pronounces  the  English  drama  of  his  own 
day  equal  or  superior  to  the  French,  and  inferior  only  to  the 
English  "of  the  former  age."^ 

(2)  In  a  less  emphatic  manner,  Dryden  defends  the  principles 
of  the  French  drama,  as  expounded  in  the  Trois  Discours'  of  Cor- 
ncille,  though  he  has  scant  respect  for  French  practice.  Like 
Corneille,  from  whom  he  borrows  many  of  his  arguments,  he 
emphasizes,  not  the  general  spirit  of  this  drama,  but  the  "integrity 
of  scenes"  and  the  minor  unities  of  time  and  place.  These  rules 
poets  should  observe  as  closely  as  is  possible  without  bringing  on 
themselves  "that  dearth  of  plot,  and  narrowness  of  imagination, 
which  may  be  observed  in  all  their  [French]  plays."^  Jonson  in 
The  Silent  ^Yoman  has  made  a  perfect  comedy  by  combining  ful- 
ness of  plot  and  variety  of  characters  with  an  exact  observance  of 
the  dramatic  rules. 

In  one  important  respect,  however,  Dryden  takes  without  reserve 
the  side  of  the  Elizabethan  dramatists.  He  will  not  admit  that 
"compassion  and  mirth  in  the  same  subject  destroy  each  other," 
and  concludes,  "to  the  honor  of  our  nation,  that  we  have  invented, 
increas'd,  and  perfected  a  more  pleasant  way  of  writing  for  the 
stage  than  was  ever  known  to  the  ancients  or  moderns  of  any 
nation,  which  is  tragi-comedy."* 

1.  '   Ss.  XV.  354. 

2.  Sur  le  Po^me  Dramatique,  8ur  la  TragMie,  Sitr  les  Trois  Unites  (1660). 

3.  Ss.  XV.  339. 

4.  Ss.  XV.  332.  By  tragi-comedy,  as  the  context  makes  plain.  Dryden  under- 
stands plays  in  which  comic  scenes  are  inserted  in  a  tragic  action  ;  such,  for 
example,  as  Hamlet  and  other  tragedies  of  Shakspere.  He  seems  never  to 
use  the  word  In  the  sense  defined  by  Fletcher  in  his  preface  to  The  Faithful  Shep- 


DRYDExX  AS  DRAMATIST  xxiii 

In  regard  to  the  decorum  of  the  stage,  Dryden  occupies  a 
safe  middle  ground.  He  condemns  scenes  of  death  on  the  stage, 
but  says  finally:  "If  we  are  to  be  blam'd  for  showing  too  much 
of  the  action,  the  French  are  as  faulty  for  discovering  too  little  of 
it;  a  mean  betwixt  both  should  be  observ'd  by  every  judicious  writer, 
so  as  the  audience  may  neither  be  left  unsatisfied  by  not  seeing 
what  is  beautiful,  or  shocked  by  beholding  what  is  either  incredible 
or  undecent."^ 

(3)  Dryden's  plea  for  tragi-comedy  and  his  protest  against 
French  decorum  are  really  a  defense  of  his  own  dramatic  methods. 
A  long  argument  in  support  of  rime  in  the  drama,  more  detailed 
than  its  predecessor  in  the  dedication  of  The  Rival  Ladies,  applies 
directly  to  the  heroic  plays.  The  following  synopsis  does  great 
injustice  to  Dryden's  urbanity. 

(a)  The  usage  of  the  English  stage  is,  to  be  sure,  in  favor  of 
blank  verse.  But  the  English  fathers  of  the  drama  have  won  such 
distinction  in  it  that  their  successors,  to  rival  them,  must  choose 
some  new  Avay  of  writing.  Eime  has  shown  its  practical  value  by 
the  success  of  The  Siege  of  Rhodes,  Mustapha,  TJie  Indian  Queen, 
and  The  Indian  Emperor. 

(b)  Some  critics  argue  that  since  dialogue  in  a  play  is  repre- 
sented as  the  result  of  sudden  thought,  rime  is  unnatural  in  it : 
that  this  artificiality  is  especially  marked  in  speaking  of  common 
things,  as  in  bidding  a  servant  shut  a  door ;  or  in  scenes  of  repartee, 
where  the  couplet  is  divided  between  two  persons.  But  all  these 
arguments  apply  only  against  unskilful  rimers,  not  against  rime 
itself.  A  skilful  poet  can  make  rimed  verse  appear  as  natural  as 
blank  verse;  he  can  use  grand  language  even  for  commonplace 
ideas.  Finally,  the  beauty  that  rime  adds  to  scenes  of  repartee 
compensates  for  any  increase  in  artificiality.-  Eime  is  admittedly 
improper  for  comedy,  which  is  the  imitation  of  common  persons 
and  ordinary  speaking.  A  serious  play,  however,  "is  indeed  the  rep- 
resentation of  nature,  but  'tis  nature  wrought  up  to  a  higher  pitch. 
The  plot,  the  characters,  the  wit,  the  passions,  the  descriptions,  are 
all  exalted  above  the  level'  of  common  converse,  as  high  as  ihe 


herdess:  "A  tragi-comedy  is  not  so  called  in  respect  of  mirtli  and  liillinc:.  but  in 
respect  it  wants  deaths,  'which  is  enough  to  make  it  no  tragedy,  yet  brings  some 
near  it,  wliich  is  enough  to  make  it  no  comedy,  which  must  be  a  representation  of 
familiar  people,  with  such  kind  of  trouble  as  no  life  be  (juestioned."  Corneille's 
Ciinia.  with  which  Dryden  must  have  been  familiar,  would  conform  to  Fletcher's 
definition. 

1.  Ss.  XV.  •S.'JS.  Dryden's  practice  in  The  Indian  Emperor  does  not  wholly 
accord  with  these  principles.  Deaths  on  the  ttage  are  frequent,  and  the  tortur- 
ing of  Montezuma  (act  v,  sc.  2)  is  certainly  "undecent."  One  scene  (act  ii, 
sc.  4)   represents  a  series  of  combats  in  tho  course  of  a  battle. 

2.  In  the  dedication  of  The  Rival  Ladies  Drj'den  had  written  :  "In  the 
quickness  ot  repartees  ....  it  [limc]  has  so  particular  a  graee.  and 
Is  so  aptly  suited  to  them,  that  the  sudden  smartness  of  the  answer,  and  the 
sweetness  of  the  rime,  set  off  the  beauty  of  each  other"   (Ss.  il.  137). 


jjiv  INTEODUCTION 

imagination  of  the  poet  can  carry  them,  with  proportion  to  veri- 
simility.  Tragedy,  we  know,  is  wont  to  image  to  us  the  minds  and 
fortunes  of  noble  persons,  and  to  portray  tliese  exactly ;  heroic  rime 
is  nearest  nature,^  as  being  the  noblest  kind  of  modern  verse."- 

(c)  Finally,  rime  is  valuable  as  a  check  on  "a  wild  overflowing 
fancy-'^  in  a  poet;  it  makes  him  pause  over  his  work  and  exercise 
his  judgment  to  the  best  advantage.  This  argument  shows  how 
the  rationalistic  spirit  of  the  time  exercised  its  sway  even  over  the 
fantastic  heroic  plays.  It  indicates  that  Dryden  will  one  day  lay 
aside  his  bombastic  style  and  strive  for  an  ideal  of  chastened 
elegance. 

In  conclusion,  we  may  say  that  Dryden,  unlike  Corneille  and 
Jonson,  to  whom  he  owes  so  many  of  his  arguments,  advocates 
freedom  in  dramatic  development  instead  of  submission  to 
authority;  the  Elizabethans  Avithout  the  law  are  justified  by  their 
works;  general  progress  in  the  drama,  beyond  anything  yet  accom- 
plished by  French  or  English  authors,  is  at  least  not  impossible. 

The  plays  of  Dryden  that  come  between  The  Indian  Emperor 
and  The  Conquest  of  Granada  may  be  dismissed  in  a  few  words. 
Secret  Love;  or,  The  Maiden  Queen  (acted  in  March,  1667),  is  a 
tragi-comedy  of  the  same  type  as  Marriage  a  la  Mode.  The  serious 
or  "heroic"  part  of  the  play  is  based  on  an  episode  in  Le  Grand 
Cyrus  of  Mile,  de  Scudery.^  Dryden  probably  had  this  play  in 
preparation  when  he  wrote  his  defense  of  English  tragi-comedy  in 
An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy.  Sir  Martin  Mar-All  (acted  in 
August,  i667)  is  an  adaptation,  only  partly  by  Dryden,  of  Moliere's 
L'Etourdi.  The  Tempest  (acted  in  November,  1667)  is  a  wretched 
adaptation  from  Shakspere  by  Dryden  and  Davenant.  An 
Evening's  Love  (acted  in  June,  1668)  is  a  comedy  based  on 
Le  Feint  Astrologue  of  Thomas  Corneille.  Tyrannic  Love  (acted 
in  the  spring  of  1669)  is  a  heroic  play;  the  ranting  of  Maximin, 
tyrant  of  Eome,  rivals  that  of  his  greater  successor,  Almanzor. 

The  Conquest  of  Granada,  a  long  play  in  two  parts  and  ten 
acts,  was  put  on  the  stage  early  in  1670,  and  by  its  brilliant  success 
established  Dryden's  reputation  as  the  foremost  English  dramatist 
of  his  day.  Since  it  is  the  most  perfect  example  of  the  heroic 
drama,  it  demands  our  careful  attention. 

The  plot  of  The  Conquest  of  Granada  is  composed  of  three 

1.  On  the  peculiar  meanJngs  of  "nature"  in  Dryden  and  his  contempo- 
raries, see  W.  P.  Ker.  Essays  of  John  Dryden,  vol.  1,  pp.  xsiv-xxrl.  Here 
"nature"  seems  to  be  "the  principles  of  sound  reason  in  poetry." 

2.  Ss.  XV.  3<50. 

3.  Ss.   XV.   375. 

4.  The  story  of  Phllocles  in  part  ix.  book  3.  See  A.  TUchert,  John  Dryden 
als  Dramatiker  in  seinen  Besiehungen  zti  Madeleine  de  Bendery's  Bomandtchtung, 
Zweibriicken,  1885. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxr 

parts,  skilfully  interwoven :  first,  the  story  of  Almanzor,  Almahide, 
Boabdelin,  and  Abdalla ;  second,  that  of  Abdalla,  Abdelmelech,  and 
Lyndaraxa;  third,  that  of  Osmyn,  Benzayda,  Abenamar,  and  Selin. 
The  first  of  these  stories  is  drawn  mainly  from  the  Almahide  (1660) 
of  Mile,  de  Sevidery,  but  owes  some  of  its  incidents  to  a  Spanish 
historical  romance  by  Gines  Perez  de  Hita,  the  Guerras  Civiles  de 
Granada  (1595-1604),  which  Dryden  probably  read  in  a  French 
translation.^  The  second  story  is  from  Le  Grand  Cyrus  (part  ix, 
book  1)  ;  and  the  third  is  from  Ibrahim  (part  i,  book  1,  and  part 
iv,  book  4).  Furthermore,  Dryden  himself  states  that  he  has  mod- 
eled Almanzor  upon  the  Achilles  of  Homer,  the  Einaldo  of  Tasso, 
and  upon  Artaban,  the  hero  of  the  Cleopdtre  (1647)  of  La  Cal- 
prenede.  Names,  incidents,  characterization,  and  sentiment,  how- 
ever freely  manipulated  by  Dryden,  all  bear  marks  of  their  French 
origin.-  But  the  swift  development  of  the  play,  and  its  loud, 
tumultuous  dialogue,  remind  us  rather  of  Marlowe's  Tamhurlaine 
than  of  a  leisurely  court  romance.  Dryden  compressed  a  compli- 
cated action  into  limits  prescribed  by  the  length  of  a  ten-act  play, 
and  adapted  his  work  to  the  tastes  of  an  audience  that  wanted  to 
see  something  done  on  the  stage,  rather  than  to  listen  to  long 
speeches  filled  with  delicate  psychological  analysis. 

The  contrast  between  The  Conquest  of  Granada  and  a  French 
classical  tragedy  is  still  more  marked.  Dryden  shows,  to  be  sure, 
some  respect  for  the  French  rules.  The  time  of  action  of  each 
part  of  The  Conquest  of  Granada  is  within  one  day,  and  the 
two  parts  are  separated  from  each  other  by  only  one  night.  But 
these  two  days  are  more  full  of  stirring  incidents  than  a  month 
of  ordinary  warfare.^  The  place  of  action,  again,  never  departs 
from  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Granada.  The  minor  intrigues 
are  subordinate  to  the  main  plot,  and  assist  its  progress,  so 
that  in  a  broad  sense  unity  of  action  is  preserved.  "Integrity 
of  scenes,"  thougli  not  strictly  observed,  is  not  lost  from  sight.* 
But  the  spirit  of  Dryden's  hurried,  complicated  action,  with  its 
frequent  reversals  of  fortune,  its  drums  and  trumpets,  its  battles 

1.  See  Tiichert,  op.  cit.  There  is  no  evidence  that  Dryden  could  read 
Spanish.  To  be  sure,  Spence  says,  in  his  Anecdotes,  that  Bolingbroke  told  him 
that  Dryden  asserted  that  he  "got  more  from  the  Spanish  critics  alone,  than 
from  the  Italian  and  French,  and  all  other  critics  put  together."  In  reality 
Dryden  never  even  implies  that  he  could  read  Spanish,  never  quotes  a  line  of  the 
language,  never  gives  evidence  of  having  read  any  Spanish  book  not  accessible 
in  an  English  or  French  translation.  His  only  reference  to  a  Spanish  critic 
Is  ^n  allusion,  taken  from  Rapin,  to  the  Arte  Xucra  of  Lope  de  Vega.  Sea 
Dryden,  A  ParalleJ  of  Poetry  ami  Painting  fSs.  xvil.  316>.  and  Rapln.  Reflexions 
8ur  la  PoHique   (Oeuvres,  Amsterdam,  1709-10,  vol.  ii,  pp.   93,  94.) 

2.  Tiichert,  op.  cit. 

3.  Dryden,  following  CornelUe's  principle,  gives  few  indications  of  the 
time  of  action,  so  that  this  absurdity  is  not  forced  on  the  reader's  attention. 

4.  To  be  exact,  acts  1,  2  and"  3  of  Part  I  are  "unbroken,"  that  is,  the 
liaison  dea  scdnes  is  exactly  observed  in  them  ;  act  4  of  Part  I  and  act  1  of 
Part  II  are  broken  once;  act  5  of  Part  1  and  acts  2.  3  and  4  of  Tart  II  are 
broken  twice;  and  act  5  of  Part  IT  is  broken  three  times. 


XX  vi  INTRODUCTION 

and  shoutings,  is  that  of  an  early  Elizabethan  play,  a  chronicle 
history  or  a  tragedy  of  blood;  and  is  essentially  opposite  to  that 
of  a  French  classical  tragedy,  in  which  events,  as  such,  count  for 
little,  and  the  interest  centers  on  the  orderly  development  of  a 
psychological  crisis. 

In  style  The  Conquest  of  Granada  marks  the  culmination  of 
Dryden's*^  second  poetic  period,  which  is  characterized  by  fluency 
and  bombast,  Just  as  his  early  works,  notably  his  youthful  elegy 
on  Lord  Hastings,  had  been  disfigured  by  "metaphysical"  conceits 
of  the  school  of  Cowley.  The  following  vaunt  of  Almanzor  to  his 
beloved  Almahide  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  tone  of  the  play: 

Born,  as  I  am,  still  to  command,  not  sue, 

Yet  you  shall  see  that  I  can  beg  for  you; 

And  if  your  father  will  require  a  crown, 

Let  him  but  name  the  kingdom,  'tis  his  own. 

I  am,  but  while  1  please,  a  private  man; 
^  I  have  that  soul  wliich  empires  first  began. 

'^  From  the  dull  crowd  w^hich  every  king  does  lead 

I  will  pick  out  whom  I  will  choose  to  head: 

The  best  and  bravest  souls  I  can  select, 

And  on  their  conqner'd  necks  my  throne  erect.^ 

More  specifically,  the  play  shows  the  love  of  argument  in  verse, 

and  the  genius  for  it,  which  reached  their  highest  point  in  Edigio 

Laid  and  The  Hind  and  the  Panther.     Two  years  before,  Dryden 

had  written,  "I  am  of  opinion  that  they  cannot  be  good  poets, 

who  are  not  accustom'd  to  argue  well  f^  and  in  this  play  he  shows 

himself  a  poet  after  his  own  heart.    "Witness  the  discussion  between 

Osmyn  and  Benzayda  in  Part  2,  act  III,  scene  ii;  or,  still  better, 

that  between   Almanzor  and  Lyndaraxa  in  the   following  scene. 

In  particular,  Almanzor's  couplet: 

By  reason  man  a  godhead  may  discern, 

But  how  he  would  be  worship 'd  cannot  learn,^ 

might  be  spoken  by  the  "milk-white  hind"  herself.  Though  The 
Conquest  of  Granada  gives  small  scope  for  the  powers  of  satire  of 
which  Mr.  Bayes  boasts,*  certain  lines  show  the  same  talent  for 
epigrammatic  expression  that  later  triumphed  in  Absalom  and 
Achitophel.     Thus: 

A  blush  remains  in  a  forgiven  face: 

It  wears  the  silent  tokens  of  disgrace. 

Forgiveness  to  the  injur 'd  docs  belong; 

But  they  ne'er  pardon  who  have  done  the  wrong.' 


1.  Part  1;   IV.  ii.  471-480    (p.  57). 

2.  Defense  of  an  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  (Ss.  ii.  303)  ;  of.  The  Rehearsal, 
p.  400,   11.   1-18;  p.  416.  11.   15-17. 

3.  Part  2;   IV.  iil.  120.   130   (p.  115). 

4.  But  sec  Part  2;  I.  Ii.  35-40  (p.  77),  and  note;  cf.  p.  426,  I.  345. 

5.  Part  2;  I.  ii.  3-6  (p.  76), 


DEYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxvii 

Finally,  this  play  contains,  amid  much  that  offends  our  modorn 
taste,  many  passages  of  true  poetry,  such  as  the  song  inserted  in 
the  third  act  of  Part  1,  the  farewell  address  of  Almanzor  to 
Lyndaraxa  at  the  close  of  the  third  act  of  Part  2,  and  Almanzor's 
soliloquy  at  the  opening  of  the  lifth  act  of  the  same  part/ 

Since  Dryden  owed  his  greatest  popularity  as  a  dramatist  to  the 
heroic  plays,  and  specially  to  The  Conquest  of  Granada,  it  is 
necessary  to  consider  carefully  the  characteristics  of  this  lit- 
erary type  as  developed  by  him.  In  the  first  place,  though  the 
heroic  plays  are  the  most  important  serious  dramas  of  the  years 
immediately  following  the  Restoration,  they  are  not  tragedies  in 
any  true  sense  of  the  term.  Indeed  Dryden  does  not  often  style 
them  such  in  his  critical  essays,  and  tlic  name  is  by  no  means 
universal  on  the  title-pages  of  early  editions.^  Dryden's  dictum, 
"that  an  heroic  play  ought  to  be  an  imitation,  in  little,  of  an  heroic 
poem ;  and,  consequently,  that  love  and  valor  ought  to  be  the  suljject 
of  it,"^  indicates  the  distinguishing  feature  of  these  plays;  they 
are  really  narrative  poems,  of  the  artificial  epic  sort,  cast  in  the 
form  of  dialogue.  No  true  dramatic  conflict  is  to  be  found  in  them. 
The  plot  has  no  organic  relation  with  the  characters;  its  develop- 
ment is  only  a  series  of  accidental  happenings.  Granting  that 
Dryden  in  The  Conquest  of  Granada  enlists  our  sympathy,  he 
arouses  only  admiration  and  wonder,  not  the  true  tragic  passions 
of  pity  and' fear.*  Though  deaths  are  frequent  in  the  heroic  plays, 
the  outcome,  at  least  as  regards  the  principal  characters,  is  always 
a  happy  one:  the  murders  committed  are  only  a  more  vigorous 
punishment  of  vice  than  that  usual  in  comedy.'^  Virtue  is  rewarded 
and  lovers  are  united  in  triumphant  marriage.  In  a  word,  the 
heroic  plays  are  melodramas  with  a  happy  ending. 

Love  and  valor  are,  as  Dryden  says,  the  controlling  motives  in 
the  heroic  plays.  Love  is  a  sudden  passion,  which  flashes  up  in  a 
moment,  as  in  Almanzor  at  the  first  sight  of  Almahidc,  or  in  Ben- 
zayda  at  the  spectacle  of  Osmyn's  peril,  and  burns  with  a  fierce 
flame,  hardly  or  not  at  all  to  be  controlled.  In  man  it  is  inspired 
only  by  the  beauty  of  woman;  in  woman,  only  by  the  valor  of  man." 


1.  Sec  Saintsburv's  note  (Ss.  iv.  G6),  and  his  comments  in  his  introduction 
to  the  play  (Ss.  iv.  7,  "8,  10).  «   ^..     ^  .     . 

2.  It  does  not  occur,  for  example,  on  the  title-pages  of  The  Conquest  of 
Granada  or  The  Indian  Emperor;  or  on  those  of  Crowne's  Destruction  of 
Jerusalem,  or  his  History  of  Charles  the  Eiiihth  of  France. 

3.  Essay  of  Heroic  Plays,  p.  8,  11.  33-35. 

4.  When  in  A  Defense  of  an  Essaii  of  Dramatic  Poesy  (Ss.  11.  302)  Dryden 
tells  us  that  admiration  is  the  delight  of  tragedy,  as  satire  is  of  comedy,  he  is 
probably  thinking  of  his  own  heroic  plays.  ^  ^     j     tu 

5.  St.  Catherine,  the  heroine  of  Tyrannic  Lore,  to  be  sure,  is  put  to  death 
by  the  tyrant  Maximin,  but  she  has  such  obvious  "influence,"  in  a  personal  way, 
with  the  heavenlv  powers,  that  further  stay  ou  earth  would  be  tiresome  for  her. 

6.  For  an  insignificant  exception  see  the  account  of  Alibech  In  the  first 
lines  of  footnote  on  p.  xxix. 


jxviii  INTRODUCTION 

No  hero  ever  praises  the  character  of  his  beloved,  not  even  her 
maidenly  modesty;  no  heroine  is  moved  by  the  wisdom  or  moral 
di<'-nity  of  her  lover.  Abdelmelech  remains  devoted  to  Lyndaraxa 
lono-  after  he  is  convinced  of  her  faithlessness  and  selfishness,  and 
frees  himself  from  her  only  when  her  villainy  has  become  so 
apparent  as  to  be  almost  ludicrous.  Every  warrior,  whether  villain 
or  hero,  is  brave;  cowardice  would  be  a  comic  trait,  alien  to  the 
exalted  spirit  of  the  heroic  plays.  Aside  from  love,  honor,  which 
may  be  defined  as  an  exaggerated  fidelity  to  duty,  whether  to 
faniilv,  country,  or  one's  own  word,  is  the  only  passion  that  has 
power  over  Dryden's  heroes  and  heroines.  Yet  there  is  no  real  con- 
flict between  love  and  honor,  as  in  the  French  tragedies.  Dryden's 
heroes  always  manage  to  remain  faithful  to  both.  Almanzor,  who, 
as  a  hero  without  country  or  family,  is  bound  only  by  faithful- 
ness to  liis  own  nature,  will  not  stoop  to  meanness  or  deceit  in 
pursuit  of  his  love ;  he  triumphs  because  of  his  valor — and  because 
of  the  revelation  of  the  secret  of  his  birth.  Osmyn,  who  strictly 
observes  his  duty  to  his  country  and  to  his  cruel  father,  still 
manages  to  reconcile  the  dictates  of  honor  with  those  of  love. 
Abdelmelech,  one  of  the  few  exceptions  to  this  rule,  dies  through 
devotion  to  his  country,  rather  than  to  a  faithless  mistress.  In 
general,  the  plots  of  Dryden's  plays  are  so  contrived  that  honor 
imposes  no  fatal  check  on  the  progress  of  a  worthy  passion.^ 

Fantastic  as  are  the  notions  of  love  and  honor  in  the  heroic  plays, 
these  emotions  are  yet  real  working  principles  in  the  lives  of  the 
characters.  A  hero,  like  Osmyn  or  Abdelmelech,  is  ruled  by  fidelity 
to  home  and  country,  which  cooperates  with  love  for  a  good  woman, 
or  overcomes  that  for  a  bad  one,  as  the  case  may  be.  A  villain, 
like  Abdalla,  strives  only  for  his  personal  ends,  which  he  will  ad- 
vance by  any  sort  of  perfidy.  Lyndaraxa,  the  type  of  a  bad  woman, 
makes  even  love  the  tool  of  her  ambition.  The  heroine  Benzayda, 
like  her  lover  Osmyn,  refuses  to  let  love  extinguish  all  other  nat- 
ural feelings.  Almahide  will  not  retract  a  vow  made  under  con- 
straint, before  she  has  seen  Almanzor.^ 


1.  This  of  course  is  necessitated  by  the  fact  that  the  heroic  plays  always 
have  a  happy  ending. 

2.  Professor  L.  N.  Chase,  in  his  volume  on  Tlie  English  Heroic  Play  (New 
York.  1903)  denies  that  "the  element  of  honor"  was  "either  of  great  extent  or 
of  vital  nature"  in  the  heroic  plays  (p.  122).  As  a  proof  he  cites  a  speech  of 
the  villain  Zulema  in  The  Conquest  of  Granada.  (See  p.  30,  11.  208-211.) 
One  might  as  well  say  that  Falstaff's  famous  soliloquy  proves  that  Shakspere 
had  no  conception  of  honor  !  Similar  lines,  which  Professor  Chase  quotes  from 
The  Indian  Queen,  are  spoken  by  the  wicked  queen  Zempoalla.  (See  Ss.  li.  250.) 
An  exclamation  of  Cortez  in  The  Indian  Emperor  is  of  more  account : 

Honor,  be  gone!  what  art  thou  but  a  breath? 
ru  live,  proud  of  my  Infamy  and  shame, 
Grac'd  with  no  triumph  but  a  lover's  name. 

(Ss.  ii.  348.) 

Yet  this  is  uttered  in  a  burst  of  passion,  and  is  not  borne  out  by  the  subsequent 

conduct  of  Cortez. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxix 

Yet  this  parade  of  heroic  virtue,  these  panegyrics  of  love  and 
honor,  are  not  altogether  convincing.  The  flippant  prologue  and 
epilogue  to  Part  1  and  the  prologue  to  Part  2  of  The  Conquest  of 
Granada  show  the  low  moral  tone  that  is  characteristic  of  Pestora- 
tion  comedy.  Hints  of  the  same  indecent  ribaldry  appear  beneath 
the  polished  rhetoric  of  the  play  itself.  Almanzor  is  meant  to  have 
the  sympathy  of  the  audience  when,  in  reply  to  Boabdelin's  lament 
at  Almahide's  supposed  infidelity,  he  exclaims : 

Your  love  and  honor!    Mine  are  ruin'd  worse: 
Furies  and  hell!    What  right  have  you  to  curse? 
Dull  husband  as  you  are, 
What  can  your  love,  or  what  your  honor  be? 
I  am  her  lover,  and  she 's  false  to  me.' 

Wedded  love,  indeed,  finds  neither  respect  nor  sympathy  in  the 
heroic  plays.  Boabdelin's  diatribes  against  marriage  reflect  the 
prevailing  view.-  Boabdelin  himself  is  made  quite  as  ludicrous, 
though  not  in  exactly  the  same  way,  as  Don  Gomez  in  The  Spanish 
Friar  or  Sir  Paul  Plyant  in  Congreve's  Double-Dealcr. 

Evidently  these  heroic  plays  will  furnish  no  such  variety  of 
characters  as  are  found  in  Shakspere  or  even  in  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher.  The  field  of  observation  has  been  restricted  and  the 
motives  underlying  dramatic  action  have  been  simplified  and  con- 
ventionalized. Yet  the  chief  figures  in  The  Conquest  of  Granada  are 
all  well  distinguished;  and,  once  we  have  became  accustomed  to  the 
atmosphere  of  the  play,  we  can  follow  their  fortunes  with  interest. 
In  Selin  and  Abenamar  Dryden  even  attempts  to  show  development 

Professor  Chase  further  notes  that  Alibech  in  The  Indian  Emperor  (Ss.  ii. 
S77)  rejects  Guyomar  because  he  prefers  to  obey  honor  rather  than  her  com- 
mands. I!ut  she  has  been  urging  him  to  disregard  the  strict  laws  of  honor  for 
the  salie  of  what  she  thinlis  is  the  good  of  their  country.  Furtliermore,  she  a 
moment  later  repents  her  hastiness  and  loves  Guyomar  the  better  for  his  dis- 
obedience : 

My  inward  choice  was  Guyomar  tiefore. 
But  now   Iiis  virtue  has  confirm'd  me  more. 

(Ss.  il.  .STn.) 

Professor  Chase  even  overstates  (p.  124)  Dryden's  opposition  to  honor  as  a 
code  of  laws  for  the  conduct  of  gentlemen.  He  quotes  Dryden  as  saying  :  "You 
see    how    little      .       .       .      great    authors      .  .      esteem    the    point    of    honor, 

so  much  magnified  by  the  French,  and  so  ridiculously  ap'd  by  us"  (An  Essay 
of  Heroic  I'laijs,  p.  12).  But  Dryden  writes  ••these  great  authors,"  referring 
to  Homer,  Iloiace.  and  Tasso.  He  is  defending  the  impetuous  insolence  of 
Almanzor  to  his  superiors  in  social  rank  by  the  examples  of  Achilles  and  Hinaldo. 
He  continues:  "They  [Homer  and  Tasso]  made  their  heroes  men  of  honor:  but 
so  as  not  to  divest  them  quite  of  human  passions  and  frailties."  Anotlier 
speech  which  Professor  Chase  quotes  in  support  of  his  position  Is  by  the  devil's 
advocate  Dianet.  in  Aiircny-Zehr.  arguing  against  the  virtuous  hero.  (Sei'  Ss. 
ii.  237.)  Professor  Cliase  is  quite  correct  In  saying  that  "that  fine  essence  of 
gentlemanhood  by  which  the  popular  conception  of  cliivalry  is  hallowed"  Is  not 
found  in  the  heroic  plays  :  but  a  certain  Idea  of  honor  does  appear  in  them,  and 
one  not  wholly  to  be  despised.        Compare,  for  example,   p.   IIG,   II.    191-195. 

1.  Part   2:    IV.    111.   36r,-369    (n     120). 

2.  See  pp.  79,  9.3.  I  am  here  indebted  to  Holzhausen  in  Enplischc 
f<tudien,  xvi,  pp.  210-213,  Hol/liauseirs  three  articles  on  "Dryden's  Heroisches 
Drama"  (Eiii/lischr  Stiidien.  .\iii.  411-445;  xv.  i:!-.-.2;  xvi.  201-229)  give  an 
exhaustive  arid  an  Interesting  trralment  of  the  subject.  lOxceptlnti  may  be  taken, 
however,  to  some  of  his  statements.     Compare  p.  xlx.  n.  2  ;  p.  xxxiv,  n.  3. 


Ijcx  INTRODUCTION 

of  character,  Xevcrthcless,  as  we  shall  see  more  clearly  later, 
Dryden's  fundamental  weakness  as  a  dramatist  lies  in  his  inability 
to  create  really  living  human  beings. 

The  heroic  plays,  the  chief  works  of  Dryden's  early  life,  require 
for  their  appreciation  to-day,  in  a  greater  degree  than  Malory  on 
the  one  hand  or  Congreve  on  the  other,  an  abnegation  of  our  ordi- 
nary modes  of  thought.  To  enjoy  the  Morte  d' Arthur,  we  cast  off 
the  shackles  of  our  grown-up  common  sense,  and  fancy  ourselves 
once  more  among  knights  and  fairies,  magic  swords  and  enchanted 
castles.  To  relish  The  Way  of  the  \Yorld,  we  must  give  over  look- 
ing for  the  expression  of  simple  emotion,  and  imagine  ourselves 
members  of  a  perverted  society,  in  which  inventiveness  supplants 
imagination  and  gallantry  takes  the  place  of  love.  The  heroic 
plays  require  us  to  make  both  concessions  at  once.  The  case  is 
somewhat  similar  with  Dryden's  version  of  The  Knight's  Tale 
or  Pope's  translation  of  the  Iliad,  both  of  which  apply  an  artificial 
style — the  phrase  is  unfortunate,  but  has  become  consecrated  by 
usage — to  a  subject  marked  by  fresh,  natural  vigor  and  grace. 
The  heroic  plays,  however,  go  many  steps  further  than  the  freest 
of  stilted  translations.  They  treat  ideas  descended  from  old  chiv- 
alry in  a  diction  permeated  with  the  spirit  of  elaborate  ceremonial 
manners. 

AVhen  The  Conquest  of  Granada  was  printed,  in  1672,  Dryden 
published  with  it  two  important  critical  essays.  An  Essay  of  Heroic 
Plays  and  An  Essay  on  the  Dramatic  Poetry  of  the  Last  Age 
(Defense  of  the  Epilogue).  The  first  of  these  has  already  fur- 
nished much  material  for  this  study.  At  present  it  needs  only  to 
be  said  that,  instead  of  "trimming,"  as  in  An  Essay  of  Dramatic 
Poesy.  Dryden  here  boldly  defends  the  introduction  of  scenes  of 
tumult  on  the  stage.  And  instead  of  giving  a  long  argument  for 
the  use  of  rime  in  the  drama,  he  dismisses  the  subject  in  a  few 
words,  laying  stress  on  the  practical  success  of  the  heroic  couplet 
and  the  exaltation  of  tone  gained  by  it.  Later  he  abandoned  the 
position  that  he  here  lakes  so  triumphantly. 

At  the  present  time  we  can  see  better  than  Dryden  himself  the 
true  meaning  of  this  long  controversy.  The  esthetic  sense  of  the 
English  people  has  established  blank  verse  as  the  proper  medium 
for  En^rlish  tragedy;  it  elevates  the  style  without  making  it  seem 
artificial.  But  the  heroic  plays  are  not  normal  English  tragedies; 
in  plot,  character-drawing,  and  sentiment  they  are  more  conven- 
tional than  ordinary  tragedy,  and  so  require  for  their  expression  a 
more  artificial  form  of  verse.  They  are  analogous  to  the  tragic 
scene  acted  by  the  players  in  Hamlet,  which  is  put  into  couplet 
form,  that  it  may  be  distinguished  by  its  artificial  manner  from  the 
main  body  of  the  play.     Dryden  was  correct  in  regarding  the  heroic 


DEYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxxl 

couplet  as  the  appropriate  verse  for  his  heroic  plays ;  he  was  equally 
well-advised  in  discarding  it  when  he  ceased  to  write  them. 

The  success  of  The  Conquest  of  Granada  had  turned  Dryden's 
head.  In  the  epilogue  to  the  second  part  of  the  play  he  had 
vaunted  the  progress  in  draniatic  art  and  poetic  style  made  by 
himself  and  his  fellow-dramatists  over  Jonson  and  the  other 
Elizabethans.  The  Defense  of  the  Epilogue  is  an  attempt  to  justify 
this  proud  self-assertion.  Dryden's  attitude  has  entirely  changed 
since  he  wrote  An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Foesy.  There  he  had  laid 
stress  on  the  greatness  of  Shakspere,  Fletcher,  and  Jonson;  here, 
while  admitting  their  merits,  he  devotes  himself  to  picking  flaws 
in  their  work.  All  his  judgments  are  those  of  a  poet  who  finds  his 
ideal  in  the  artificial  "refinement"  of  the  English  court  of  1670. 
Dryden's  pride  was  now  at  its  height.     It  was  soon  to  have  a  fall. 

II.  Because  of  their  frequent  exaggerations  and  absurdities, 
the  heroic  plays  were  peculiarly  exposed  to  satire  and  parody.  The 
attack  came  in  the  stinging  farce  of  The  Rehearsal.  The  occasion 
of  this  piece  is  known  only  from  a  bookseller's  Key,  published  in 
1704,  some  forty  years  after  the  event.^  According  to  this  Key, 
George  Yilliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  favorite  of  Charles  II, 
was  keenly  impressed  by  the  ludicrous  side  of  the  heroic  plays  on 
their  very  first  appearance;  and,  apparently  in  1663,  headed  a 
body  of  mockers  at  the  performance  of  The  United  Kingdoms,  by 
Colonel  Henry  Howard,  brother  of  the  Sir  Eobert  Howard  with 
whom  Dryden  wrote  The  Indian  Queen.  A  tumult  followed,  and 
Buckingham  barely  escaped  chastisement.  In  revenge,  he  wrote 
The  Rehearsal,  of  which,  in  the  first  draft,  he  apparently  made 
Davenant  the  hero.^    According  to  a  contemporary  satirist,  he  was 


1.  By  S.  Briscoe.  For  my  information  in  roparfl  to  The  Rehearsal  I  am 
lndel)ted  almost  ontirely  to  the  'illustrative  material  collected  by  Professor  Arber 
for  his  excellent  edition  in  the  Emjlish  Reprints. 

2.  Malone  in   his  Life  of  Dnjdcn  writes  as  follows: 

"In  the  Key  to  this  piece  .  .  .  we  are  told  that  it  was  written,  and 
ready  for  representation,  before  the  middle  of  the  year  16G5,  and  that  Sir 
Robert  Howard,  under  tlie  name  of  liilboa,  was  then  intended  to  have  been  the 
hero  of  the  farce.  That  some  interlude  of  this  kind  misht  have  been  thus  early 
intended,  is  not  at  all  impiobaliie;  but  assuredly  the  original  hero  was  not 
Howard,  but  D'Avenant  :  not  only  on  account  of  the  name  of  liUhoa,  which 
alludes  to  his  militarv  character,  (for  he  was  Lieutenant-General  of  the  Ord- 
nance under  the  Duke"  of  Newcastle,  in  the  Civil  Wars.)  but  from  the  circum- 
stance of  the  patch  that  in  the  course  of  the  drama  he  is  obliged  to  wear  on  his 
nose  :  which  can  relate  to  none  but  D'Avenant.  Besides,  he  was  a  much  more 
distinguished  character,  not  only  as  Poet  Laureate,  but  as  superintendent  of  the 
Duke  of  York's  Company  of  Comedians,  and  the  intrciducer  of  heroick  plays  on 
the  I':n;,'lish  sta.^'i'.  The  allusions  to  Sir  Hobert  Howard's  tragedies  are  so  few 
and  inconsiderable,  that  he  never  could  have  been  the  author's  principal  object" 
(rrose  Worku  of  John  Driiden,  I.  i.  07,  !>S).  These  arguments  have  been  gener- 
ally, and  with  good  reason,  accepted  as  sufficient  to  prove  that  Davenant  was  the 
principal  ol)ji'(t  .,f  attack  in  the  (iist  draft  of  The  Rihaiixal.  though  traits  of 
Sir  Robert  Iloward  and  other  dramatists  mav  have  been  worked  into  the  portrait 
of  Bilboa.  But  Emil  D<"ihler.  in  a  dissertation  entitled  Dcr  Arinnff  (leorne 
ViUieiK'n,  IIeizo<is  roii  Hiiel:iii(/liniii .  niif  ilie  Ileniixcheii  Drameii  uud  Dicliter 
Ensjlands  im  AT//,  .hthrhundert  ( Ilalle,  1S87  ;  printed  also  in  Anf/Ua,  x.  3.S-7.')). 
advances   the    thcorv    that   the   original    hero   of    The   lieheamal   was   Col.    Hcury 


xxxii  INTEODUCTION 

assisted  In  writing  his  play  by  his  chaplain,  Thomas  Sprat,  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Rochester,  and  by  Martin  Clifford,  afterwards 
Master  of  the  Charter-House.^  The  Rehearsal  was  ready  for 
acting  in  1665,  when  its  performance  was  prevented  by  the  Great 
Plague.  It  was  then  laid  by  for  several  years,  and  was  finally 
produced,  in  a  much  modified  form,  in  1671.-  Dryden  was  at  that 
time  the  most  prominent  writer  of  heroic  plays,  and  so,  under  the 
name  of  Bayes,  received  the  post  of  hero  made  vacant  by  the  death 
of  Davcnant  in  1668.  Certain  traits  of  Davcnant  were  retained, 
liowevcr,  in  the  remodeled  form  of  The  Rehearsal,  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1672.^  Buckingham  himself  took  pains  to  train  Lacy, 
the  actor  who  took  the  part  of  Bayes.* 

To-day  the  wit  of  The  Rehearsal  seems  so  unanswerable  that  we 
inevitably  overestimate  its  effect  in  Dryden's  time.  Clever  as  the 
farce  was,  it  could  not,  and  did  not,  overthrow  an  established  repu- 
tation. Just  as  we  ourselves  can  enjoy  Calverley's  parodies  of 
Browning  without  one  whit  abating  our  admiration  of  their  original, 
so  "gentlemen  of  wit  and  sense"  in  the  seventeenth  century  could 
laugh  at  Drawcansir  and  applaud  Almanzor. 

Dryden  was  wise  enough  not  to  attempt  an  immediate  reply  to 

Howard,  the  author  of  The  United  Kinr/doms.  (See  note  to  The  Rehearsal, 
p.  411,  1.  5.)  He  thinks  that  Buckingham,  out  of  personal  spite,  would  be 
sure  to  make  this  author  the  principal  object  of  his  satire.  He  further  notes 
that,  according  to  the  Key,  the  funeral  scene  in  The  Rehearsal,  and  the  two 
Kings  of  Brentford,  are  parodies  of  The  United  Kinr/doms.  Finally,  he  con- 
jectures that  the  Key  may  have  identified  Bilboa  with  Sir  Robert  Floward  through 
a  confusion  with  his  brother.  Col.  Henry  Howard.  These  arguments  against 
Malone  seem  to  me  of  no  weight  whatever. 

Baker's  Biographia  Dramatica,  Scott  (Ss.  i.  115),  and  A.  H.  Bullen  (in 
Dietionanj  of  National  Bioyraphy)  attribute  The  United  Kingdoms  not  to  Col. 
Henry  Howard,  who  is  otherwise  unknown  as  a  dramatist,  but  to  a  third  brother, 
the  Hon.  Edward  Howard,  who  is  known  as  the  author  of  a  few  inferior  plays, 
and  who  is  also  mentioned  in  the  Kei/  as  an  object  of  Buckingham's  satire.  (See 
notes  to  The  Rehearsal,  p.  390,  11.  61,  G2  and  p.  404,  1.  53.  Bullen  calls 
the  play  The  United  Kingdom.)  I  can  find  no  contemporary  warrant  for  this 
statement.  Buckingham  must  have  had  a  grudge  against  the  whole  Howard 
family,  for  he  attacks  still  a  fourth  brother,  the  Hon.  James  Howard  (see  note  to 
The  Rehearsal,  p.  408,  1.  146). 

1.  See  a  lampoon  On  the  Duke  of  Bucks,  wrongly  ascribed  to  Dryden,  in 
Poems  on  AtJairs  of  State,  170:?,  vol.  ii,  pp.  216-218  (quoted  hv  Malone,  I.  i. 
95-07K  The  preface  to  the  edition  of  Waller's  poems  published  in  1711  adds 
Waller  and  Cowley  to  the  list  of  collaborators,  and  Wood  (Athenw  Oxonienses, 
1721.  vol.  ii.  col.  804)  adds  Samuel  Butler,  the  author  of  Hudibras.  Whether 
Butler  was  a  contributor  to  77/e  Rehearsal  or  not,  he  gives  a  clever  parody  of 
the  heroic  manner  of  Dryden  and  other  dramatists  in  his  poem,  Repartees 
between  Cat  and  Puss  at  a  Catericaiiling. 

2.  The  long  time  spent  on  The  Rehearsal  is  ridiculed  in  the  lampoon  just 
referred  to.     See  also  the  last  quotation  in  note  3,  on  p.  xxxiii. 

3.  The  second  edition  of  The  Rchrarsat  has  not  been  accessible  to  me.  The 
third  edition  (1075)  contains,  as  the  title-page  states,  "amendments  and  large 
additions  by  the  author."  Tliesp  have  been  duly  recorded  in  the  notes  to  the 
present  volume:  they  cast  new  ridicule  on  Dryden  and  his  writings.  A  collation 
of  the  sixth  edition  (1692)  shows  that  it  agrees  with  the  third,  from  which  it 
varies  only  in  spellin<r,  punct\iation,  and  some  insignificant  details  due  to  the 
printer  rather  than  to  the  author.  This  revised  text  is  printed,  with  similar 
unessential  variations,  in  the  collected  edition  of  Buckingham's  works,  1775. 

4.  We  know  from  Downes  that  Lacy  created  the  part  of  Bayes.  The  story 
of  Buckingham's  training  him  is  given  on  the  authority  of  Dr.  Lockier,  Dean  of 
Peterborough,  in  Spcnce's  Anecdotes. 


DEYDEN  AS  DEAMATIST  xxxiii 

Buckingham's  attack  on  him.  More  than  twenty  years  later  he 
says:  "I  answer'd  not  The  Rehearsal,  because  I  knew  the  author 
sate  to  himself  when  he  drew  the  picture,  and  was  the  very 
Bayes  of  his  own  farce."^  In  the  critical  essays  published  with 
The  Conquest  of  Granada  in  1672  Dryden  certainly  makes  no 
allusion  to  the  attack  on  him.  He  even  seems  determined,  as  we 
shall  see  from  the  following  passage,  to  show  generosity  by  return- 
ing good  for  evil.  "Fletcher's  Don  John  is  our  [modern  dramatists'] 
only  bugbear;  and  yet  I  may  affirm,  without  suspicion  of  flattery, 
that  he  now  speaks  better,  and  that  his  character  is  maintain'd  with 
much  more  vigor  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts  than  it  was  by  Fletcher 
in  the  three  former."-  This  is  a  direct  compliment  to  Bucking- 
ham's alteration  of  Fletcher's  The  Chances.  Nine  years  later,  in 
1681,  when  Buckingham  had  long  been  out  of  favor  with  the  Court, 
Dryden  laid  aside  his  air  of  magnanimity,  and,  by  the  portrait  of 
Zimri  in  Absalom  and  Acliitophcl,  repaid  old  scores  with  interest.^ 
One  definite  effect  on  Dryden's  work  has  been  ascribed  to  the 
influence  of  Buckingham's  ridicule.  The  episode  of  Prince  Pretty- 
man  in  The  Rehearsal  certainly  ridicules  the  tragic  underplot  of 
Dryden's  Marriage  a  la  Mode.^  Now  this  play  was  not  acted  until 
May,  1672,  and  was  first  printed  in  1673,  while  Buckingham's  farce 
was  first  performed  on  December  7,  1671.^  Hence  we  must  suppose 
that  Dryden's  play  was  handed  about  for  some  time  in  manuscript 

1.  See  Discourse  Concerning  Satire,  1692  (Ss.  xiii.  9).  In  The  Vindication 
of  the  Duke  of  Ouise,  1(183,  there  is  a  somewhat  similar  passage  :  "Much  less 
am  I  concern'd  at  the  noble  name  of  Bayes;  that  is  a  hrat  so  like  his  own  father, 
that  he  cannot  he  mistaken  for  any  other  body"    (Ss.  vii.    17.5). 

2.  Defense  of  the  Epilogue  of  The  Conquest  of  Oranada,  p.  145. 

.S.  For  the  sake  of  completeness,  I  here  add  a  chronological  list  of 
Dryden's  other  references  to  The  Rehearsal : — 

1G74.  Aotcs  and  Observations  on  The  Empress  of  Morocco.  The  phrase 
"trans-prose  his  verse"  (Ss.  xv.  403)  is  due  to  The  Rehearsal  (p.  31).  This 
passage  is  not  certainly  by  Dryden  himself.     See  p.  xxxvl. 

1678.  The  epilogue  to  All  for  Lore  contains  a  good-humored  reference  to 
Mr.  Bayes. 

1679.  The  preface  to  (Edipus  refers  with  equal  good  humor  to  "his  other 
King  of  Brentford"   (Ss.  vi.  132). 

1683.  In  The  Vindication  of  Thr  Duke  of  Ouise  Dryden  refers  to  his  title 
of  Bayes  (Ss.  vii.  179).     Compare  note  1  above. 

1686.     Dryden's  Letter  to  Sir  Qcorge  Etherege  closes  with  the  lines : 

If  Gallic  wit  convince  you  scarce. 
His  Grace  of  Bucks  has  made  a  farce. 
And  you,  whose  comic  wit  is  terse  all. 
Can  hardly  fall  below  Rehearsal. 
Then  linisb  what  you  have  began. 
But  scribble   faster   if  you  can  ; 
For  yet  no  George,  to  our  discerning, 
Has  writ  without  a  ten  years'  warnini;. 

(Ss.   xl.   44,   45.) 

For  the  portrait  of  Zimri  see  Ahsalom  and  Achitophcl.  543-508  (Ss.  Ix.  2.%7- 
202).  In  his  Discourse  concerning  Satire  (Ss.  xiil.  99),  Dryden  commends 
this  bit  of  his  own  work. 

4.  See  The  Rehearsal,  p.  401,  1.  30,  and  note  ;  pp.  406-408. 

5.  Athcnw  Oxonicnscs,  1721  ;  vol.  ii,  col.  804. 


xxxiv  IKTRODUCTION 


before  it  "vras  put  upon  the  stage.^  Like  The  Maiden  Queen, 
Marriage  a  la  Mode  is  a  tragi-comedy,  but  it  is  a  better  play,  par- 
ticularly in  the  comic  scenes.    Scott  says  of  it : 

"The  state-intrigue  bears  evident  marks  of  hurry  and  inatten- 
tion ;  and  it  is  at  least  possible  that  Dryden  originally  intended  it 
for  the  subject  of  a  proper  heroic  play,  but,  startled  at  the  effect 
of  Buckingham's  satire,  hastily  added  to  it  some  comic  scenes, 
either  lying  by  him,  or  composed  on  purpose.  The  higher  or  tragic 
plot  is  not  only  grossly  inartificial  and  improbable,  but  its  incidents 
are  so  perplexed  and  obscure,  that  it  would  have  required  much 
more  action  to  detail  them  intelligibl3%  Even  the  language  has  an 
abridged  appearance,  and  favors  the  idea  that  the  tragic  intrigue 
was  to  have  been  extended  into  a  proper  heroic  play,  instead  of 
occupying  a  spare  corner  in  a  comedy.  But  to  make  amends,  the 
comic  scenes  are  executed  with  spirit,  and  in  a  style  resembling 
those  in  The  Maiden  Queen j""^ 

Of  course  this  supposition  cannot  be  proved,  and  in  itself  it  is 
far  from  convincing.^  If  it  were  true,  we  should  expect  the  comic 
scenes,  "hastily  added"  to  the  play  by  the  author,  to  be  "perplexed 
and  obscure,"  rather  than  the  tragic  plot,  the  effect  of  which  he 
had  ample  time  to  consider,  even  though  he  was  obliged  to  develop 
it  in  less  space  than  he  originally  intended  to  devote  to  it ;  and,  on 
revising  his  work,  Dryden  Avould  hardly  have  left  unchanged  the 
very  incident  that  aroused  Buckingham's  ridicule.  As  he  wrote 
The  Maiden  Queen,  a  tragi-comedy,  immediately  after  The  Indian 
Emperor,  so  he  may  have  intended  to  follow  The  Conquest  of 
Granada  by  a  second  tragi-comedy.  Marriage  a  la  Mode,  of  which 
the  completion  or  production  may  have  been  hindered  by  causes 
unknown  to-day.  It  is  thus  needless  to  assume  that  The  Rehearsal 
had  any  influence  whatever  on  Dryden's  dramatic  work. 

"Whatever  its  genesis  may  have  been.  Marriage  a  la  Mode  is 
important  as  the  liveliest  and  most  entertaining  of  Dryden's 
comedies.  It  is  his  most  successful  attempt  at  the  comedy  of 
manners,  which  was  being  developed  at  this  very  time  by  Wycherley, 
and   which  later   reached  perfection   in  the  works   of   Congreve.* 


1.  In  his  dedication,  Dryden  tells  us  that  Rochester  saw  Marriaqe  &  la  Mode 
In  cianuscrlpt,  made  suggestions  for  its  revision,  and  showed  it  to  King  Charles, 
thereby  airtins:  in  its  kind  reception  at  the  theater  later  on.  So  it  is  natural 
enough  that  Hucklneham  and  his  collaborators  should  learn  of  the  general  char- 
acter of  the  play. 

2.  Ss.  I.  122.  The  state-intrigue  is  taken  from  Le  Grand  Ci/run.  part  iv. 
book  2.  See  Tiicheri:,  pp.  34-42.  We  have  here  one  more  indication  of  the 
Indebtedness  of  the  heroic  plays  to  the  French  romances. 

3.  Holzhausen  (En<jli.sche  Studien,  xiil.  436)  accepts  Scott's  conjectura 
as  intrinsically  probable. 

4.  Wycherley's  four  plays  come  in  the  years  1672-76  (see  article  by 
Churchill,  in  Modern  PhVo^oay,  iv.  381-388)  ;  Congreve's  come  from  1693  to  1700. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxxv 

Dryden's  Melantha  is,  as  Saintsbury  says,^  a  predecessor  of  Con- 
greve's  Millamant;  and  her  character  still  shines  with  true  comic 
charm.  Though  much  indecency  disfigures  the  play,  it  is  rather 
superficial  grossness  than  the  deep-seated  corruption  of  Wycherley. 
Dryden's  characters  are  at  least  not  heartless.  The  loose  tone  of 
the  comic  scenes  in  Marriage  a  la  Mode  is  made  more  repellent, 
however,  by  the  inflated  sentiment  and  exaggerated  virtue  of  the 
heroic  portion  of  the  play.  These  sharp  contrasts  injure  the  value 
of  Marriage  a  la  Mode  as  a  work  of  art,  and  are  a  clear  indication 
of  the  essential  insincerity  of  the  entire  heroic  drama. 

Two  wretched  plays,  a  comedy,  The  Assignation,  and  a  tragedy, 
Amhoyna,  followed  Marriage  a  la  Mode.  They  are  hack  work,  of 
which  no  discussion  is  necessary  here. 

More  efl'ectual  than  The  Rehearsal  in  abating  Dryden's  enthu- 
siasm for  the  heroic  plays  were,  in  all  probability,  certain  formal 
critical  works  published  in  France  and  England  soon  after  The 
Conquest  of  Granada;  and,  above  all,  a  quarrel  in  which  he  foolishly 
engaged  with  the  young  dramatist,  Elkanah  Settle,  who  at  that 
time  seemed  likely  to  be  a  rival  of  his  own  fame. 

Elkanah  Settle,  born  in  1648,  had  already,  in  1666,  gained  a 
certain  reputation  by  his  tragedy  of  Camhyses.  He  now  came 
forward  with  a  new  play.  The  Empress  of  Morocco  which,  through 
the  patronage  of  the  Earl  of  Norwich,  to  whom  the  poet  dedicated 
it  on  its  publication  in  1673,-  was  first  performed  at  Court,  by  a 
company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen.  The  prologue  for  the  first  repre- 
sentation was  written  by  Lord  Mulgrave,  and  that  for  the  second 
by  Lord  Rochester,  both  of  them  patrons  of  Dryden.^     The  play 

1.  Ss.  iv.  2.-11. 

2.  Wood  {Ath.  Oxotu.  1721,  vol.  ii,  col.  107G)  states  that  The  Empress  of 
Morocco  was  first  printed  in  1G71.  But  I  can  find  no  other  independent  state- 
ment that  the  play  was  published  l:)efore  the  appearance  of  the  illustrated  edition 
in  107."!,  which  is  the  first  mentioned  in  the  Term  Catalof/ties  (ed.  Arber).  The 
title  of  Dryden's  attaclc  on  the  play  indicates  that  he  regarded  the  1673  edition, 
with  "sculjjtures,"  as  the  first.     Wood's  assertion  is  probably  a  simple  blunder. 

3.  Malone  (I.  i.  124-12()),  who  apparently  had  not  consulted  the  early 
copies  of  The  Empress  of  Morocco,  seizes  on  a  statement  by  Dennis  that  Rochester 
wrote  the  prologue  when  Settle's  play  was  acted  at  Whitehall,  and  asserts  that 
Rochester  introd'iced  Si  ttle  at  Court  "'as  a  rival,  if  not  superior  poet"  to  Dryden. 
Scott  (Ss.  i.  l.-)0)  and  Bel.iame  (Le  Public  et  les  Homines  iJc  Lettres  en  Anylctcrre, 
p.  07)  somewhat  uncritically  accept  Malone's  theory.  But  Settle's  own  state- 
ment that  The  Empress  of  Morocco  owed  its  performance  at  Court  to  the  Karl 
of  Norwich  settles  the  question  :  "You  gave  it  a  noble  education,  when  you  bred 
It  up  amonKst  princes,  presented  it  in  a  court  theater,  and  l)y  persons  of  such 
birth  and  honor  that  they  borrowed  no  greatness  from  the  characters  they 
acted."  Dryden's  language  in  his  ^'o^e8  and  Observations  (Ss.  xv.  30i)  makes 
it  plain  that  the  court  performances  preceded  the  public  representation. 
Malone,  Scott,  and  Beljame  proceed  to  say  that  Rochester  then  became 
jealous  of  Settle's  prosperity,  and,  to  spite  both  him  and  Dryden.  in  lt;7o 
advanced  Crowne's  masque  of  (.'alisto  to  the  honor  of  a  court  performance.  This 
statement  rests  on  the  doubtful  authority  of  Dennis  {Original  Letters,  1(21, 
p.  49)  and  St.  Evreniond  [  '.'J  {Letter  to  the  Duchess  of  Maznrin.  prefaced  to 
Rochester's  Works.  17ii!».  referred  to  bv  Beljame).  Crowne  had  dedicated  his 
Charles  the  Eighth  to  Rochester  in  lt)72,  so  that  a  kindness  shown  him  by  that 
nobleman  three  years  later  would  simply  imply  a  continuance  of  his  favor,  not 
a  desire   to   insult   other   poets.      In    Miscellany  Poems,  1GS4,   edited    by   Dryden, 


ZZZVl 


INTRODUCTION 


was  then  transferred  to  the  public  theater;  when  piiblishod,  it  was 
adorned  with  engravings,  or  "sculptures,"  as  the  title-page  terms 
them,  then  first  used  in  a  printed  drama;  and  was  sold  for  two 
shillings,  double  the  ordinary  price.  In  his  dedication  Settle 
inserted  the  following  passage,  which  was  clearly  aimed  at  Dryden's 
Conquest  of  Granada  and  his  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy : 

"The  poet  .  .  .  picks  out  a  person  of  honor,  tells  him  he 
has  a  great  deal  of  wit,  gives  us  an  account  who  writ  sense  in  the 
last  age,  supposing  we  cannot  be  ignorant  who  writes  it  in  this; 
disputes  the  nature  of  verse,  answers  a  cavil  or  two,  quibbles  upon 
the  Court,  huffs  the  critics,  and  the  work's  done.  'Tis  not  to  be 
imagined  how  far  a  sheet  of  this  goes  to  make  a  bookseller  rich, 
and  a  poet  famous. 

"But,  my  Lord,  whilst  I  trouble  you  with  this  kind  of  discourse, 
I  beg  you  would  not  think  I  design  to  give  rules  to  the  press,  as 
some  of  our  tribe  have  done  to  the  stage ;  or  that  I  find  fault  with 
their  dedications,  in  compliment  to  my  own.  No,  that's  a  trick  I 
do  not  pretend  to." 

The  poet  laureate  had  good  reason  to  feel  aggrieved  and  in- 
sulted. To  revenge  himself  he  wrote,  in  partnership  with  Crowne 
and  Shadwell,  a  pamphlet,  published  anonymously  in  1674,  entitled 
Notes  and  Observations  on  The  Empress  of  Morocco;  or,  Some  few 
Erratas  to  be  printed  instead  of  the  Sculptures  with  the  Second 
Edition  of  that  Play,  and  with  the  familiar  motto,  from  Juvenal, 
Nunquamne  reponam,  Vexatus  toties  rauci  Theseide  Codri?^  As 
this  work  was  a  Joint  production,  we  cannot  be  sure  that  Dryden 
wrote  any  particular  part  of  it;  but,  as  he  undoubtedly  read  and 
approved  the  whole,  the  question  is  of  little  moment ;  we  may  regard 
the  opinions  and  general  temper  of  the  pamphlet  as  Dryden's  own. 


occurs  an  anonymous  Epilogue  Intended  to  have  been  spoken  iy  the  Ladi/  Ilenr. 
Mar.  Wcntuorth,  uhen  Calisto  was  acted  at  Court.  In  the  third  edition  of  this 
book.  In  1702.  Dryden's  name  is  attached  to  this  piece.  Malone  (I.  1.  129) 
treats  the  eplloguo  as  unquestionably  authentic  and  conjectures  that  it  was 
rejected  by  Rochester's  interference.  In  Scott  and  Beljame,  Malone's  guess  be- 
comes a  positive  statement. 

A  further  assertion  by  Scott  and  Beljame,  that  Rochester  deserted  Crowne 
in  favor  of  Otway,  is  apparently  supported  only  by  the  author  of  the  Letter  to 
the  Duchess  of  Mazarin  (St.  Evremond  ?)  prefaced  to  Curll's  collection  of 
Rochester's  Works,  1709.  (See  Beljame,  op.  cit..  p.  104.)  Dennis,  in  the  letter 
referred  to  above,  says  nothing  about  the  matter.  The  fact  that  Rochester 
patronized  Otway  does  not  in  itself  indicate  that  he  deserted  other  poets. 

At  a  later  time,  probably  in  1677  or  1678,  Rochester  attacked  all  four  poets 
In  his  Allusion  to  the  Tenth  Satire  of  the  First  Book  of  Horace,  and  Dryden 
made  a  spirited  reply  in  his  preface  to  All  for  Love,  published  in  1678.  (Sec 
notes,  pp.  446,  447.)  Dennis,  St.  Evremond  (?)  and  modern  writers  following 
them,  have  apparently  no  warrant  for  transferring  this  quarrel  to  an  earlier  date. 
Christie  (Globe  edition  of  Dryden,  p.  429)  partially  corrects  his  predecessors. 
,__  1-  Crowne,  in  his  "epistle"  before  Cnligula  {Works,  Edinburgh  and  London, 
1874,  iv.  35.3)  claims  above  three-fourths  of  this  pamphlet  as  his  own.  The 
ascription  of  a  share  in  it  to  Dryden  and  Shadwell  rests  on  Settle's  own  state- 
ment in  his  reply;  .see  Malone.  II.  273.  Settle  probably  had  good  reasons  for 
his  statement,  though  at  this  date  It  is  hard  to  see  hov/  Shadwell  was  Involved. 
Settle  makes  Dryden  the  principal  author. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxxvii 

Stung  to  the  quick,  Dryden  forgets  his  customary  urbanity,  and 
assails  Settle  with  coarse  abuse: 

"When  I  first  saw  The  Empress  of  Morocco,"  he  begins,  "tho' 
I  found  it  then  to  be  a  rhapsody  of  nonsense,  I  was  very  well  con- 
tented to  have  let  it  pass,  that  the  reputation  of  a  new  author  might 
not  be  wholly  damn'd." 

Soon  he  warms  up  to  his  subject : 

"Never  did  I  see  such  a  confus'd  heap  of  false  grammar,  im- 
proper English,  strain'd  hyperboles,  and  downright  bulls.  His 
plot  is  incoherent  and  full  of  absurdities,  and  the  characters  of  his 
persons  so  ill  chosen,  that  they  are  all  either  knaves  or  fools;  only 
his  knaves  are  fools  into  the  bargain,  and  so  must  be  of  necessity, 
while  they  are  in  his  management.  ...  In  short,  he's  an 
animal  of  a  most  deplor'd  understanding,  without  reading  and  con- 
versation ;  his  being  is  in  a  twilight  of  sense,  and  some  glimmering 
of  thought,  which  he  can  never  fashion  either  into  wit  or  English. 
His  style  is  boisterous  and  rough-hewcn;  his  rime  incorrigibly  lewd, 
and  his  numbers  perpetually  harsh  and  ill-sounding." 

After  some  pages  of  such  polemic,  the  pamphlet  gives  minute 
criticisms  of  single  passages  from  Settle.  Tlijis  on  the  line:  "As 
men  in  incense  send  up  vows  to  heaven,"  Dryden  remarks:  "As 
if  incense  could  carry  up  thoughts,  or  a  thought  go  up  in  smoke; 
he  may  as  well  say,  he  will  roast  or  bake  thoughts,  as  smoke  them."^ 

That  Dryden  felt  such  raillery  to  be  beneath  his  dignity  is  clear 
from  the  anonymity  of  the  scurrilous  pamphlet.  But  the  attack 
was  worse  than  undignified ;  it  was  unskilful,  giving  Settle  an 
opportunity  for  retort  of  which  he  availed  himself  immediately. 
His  rejoinder,  published  in  1674,  was,  to  use  Scott's  phrase,-  "con- 
tumaciously entitled":  Notes  and  Observations  on  The  Empress 
of  Morocco,  revised,  with  some  few  erratas;  to  he  printed  instead  of 
the  Postscript  with  the  next  edition  of  The  Conquest  of  Granada.^ 

Settle  begins  with  insults  like  those  of  his  antagonists:  "With 
very  little  conjuration,  by  those  three  remarkable  qualities  of  rail- 
ing, boasting,  and  thieving,  I  found  a  Dryden  in  the  frontispiece." 
He  then  proceeds  to  analyze  passages  from  The  Conquest  of 
Granada,  and  has  no  trouble  in  finding  there  quite  as  great  absurdi- 
ties as  Dryden  could  discover  in  The  Empress  of  Morocco.  Thus 
he  cites  Almanzor's  bombastic  lines: 

If  I  would  kill  thee  now,  thy  fate 's  so  low, 
That  I  must  stoop  ere  I  can  give  the  blow: 


1.  Notes  and  Observations  on  The  Empress  of  Moroccc,  p.  IG. 

2.  Ss.    1.    161. 

3.  In  1G87  Settle  reprinted  this  pamphlet  under  the  title,  licfleclions  on 
several  of  Mr.  Dryden's  I'lays,  particularly  the  fir>it  and  sccund  part  of  The 
Conquest   of  Granada    [sic]. 


jjj^iii  FNTKODUCTION 

But  mine  is  fix'd  so  far  above  thy  crown, 

That  all  thy  men, 

Pil'd  on  thy  back,  can  never  pull  it  down.* 

On  this  he  comments: 

"Xow  where  that  is,  Almanzor's  fate  is  fixed,  I  caiinot  guess: 
but,  wherever  'tis,  I  believe  Almanzor,  and  think  tJiat  all  Abdalla's 
subjects,  piled  upon  one  another,  might  not  pull  down  his  fate  so 
well  as  without  piling;  besides,  I  think  Abdalhi  so  wise  a  man,  that 
if  Almanzor  had  told  him  piling  his  men  upon  his  back  might  do 
the  feat,  he  Avould  scarce  bear  such  a  weight,  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
exploit.    But  'tis  a  huff,  and  let  Abdalla  do  it  if  he  dare."^ 

Evidently  such  comparisons  of  foolish  passages  would  do  more 
harm  to  the'^greater  writer.  Dryden's  play  differs  from  Settle's  in 
that  it  atones  for  its  bombast  by  its  genuine  poetic  beauty,  so  that 
it  may  still  be  read  with  pleasure  as  a  piece  of  pseudo-romantic 
poetry,  if  one  may  use  the  expression.  But  this  distinction  must  be 
felt  in  the  play  as  a  whole ;  it  cannot  be  proved  by  captious  analysis 
of  single  lines."^  "Dryden  gained  no  more  by  his  dispute-with  Settle," 
to  quote  Scott  once  more,  "than  a  well-dressed  man  who  should 
condescend  to  wrestle  with  a  chimney-sweeper."^ 

Dryden  apparently  accepted  his  defeat  in  silence;  he  certainly 
made  no  open  reply  before  1682,  when,  in  the  second  part  of 
Absalom  and  Achitophel,  he  conferred  an  unpleasant  immortality 
upon  Settle  under  the  name  of  Doeg.*  But  Settle  must  have  been 
chief  among  the  captious  critics  to  whom  he  alludes  condescendingly 
in  his  Apology  for  Heroic  Poetry  and  Poetic  License,  a  critical 
essay  which  he  prefixed  to  his  opera  The  State  of  Innocence,  a 
dramatized  version  of  certain  incidents  from  Milton's  Paradise  Lost. 
The  date  of  publication  of  this  book  is  not  quite  certain,  but  it  was 
probably  early  in  1677.' 

1.  The  Conquest  of  Granada.  Part  1,  III.  510-514   (p.  44). 

2.  Settle,  Reflections,  etc.,  1687,  p.  78.  Some  other  comments  by  Settle 
are  given  in  the  notes  to  The  Conquest  of  Granada  (pp.  4:56.  4.S7).  For  an  account 
of  other  attacks  on  The  Conquest  of  Granada  than  those  of  Buckingham  and 
Settle,  see  Scott's  Life  of  Dryden  (Ss.  i.  l.'iO-l.^S) .  Dryden  refers  contemptuously 
to  two  of  them  in  his  dedication  of  The  Assir/nation  (1673).  Ss.  iv.  ,375.  876. 
The  notes  to  The  Conquest  of  Granada  (pp.  4:55.  4:>8.  440)  give  some  references 
to  The  Censure  of  the  Rota  on  Mr.  Driden's  Conquest  of  Granada  [by  Richard 
Leigh],  Oxford.  167:5,  a  piece  the  little  humor  of  which  consists  in  showing  that 
Dryden  himself  committed  the  same  faults  that  he  censures  in  his  Defense  of  the 
Ep'ilof/ue.  An  extract  from  ^otes  upon  Mr.  Dryden's  Poems,  in  Four  Letters, 
by  Martin  Clifford.  London,  1687.  is  given  below  (p.  liii,  note  1).  In  1730 
Fielding  included  The  Conquest  of  Granada  and  other  plays  by  Dryden  among 
the  pieces  which  he  ridiculed  in  his  Tragedy  of  Tragedies;  or.  The  Life  and 
Death  of  Tom  Thumb  the  Great;  see  Notes,  p,  440. 

3.  Ss.   i.  161. 

4.  Absalom  and  Aehitophel,  part  11,  11.  412-456:  Ss.  ix.  355-362. 

5.  Malone  (I.  ii.  '.','.)'>)  and  Saintshury  (Ss.  v.  04)  date  the  first  publication 
of  The  State  of  Innocence  in  1674.  In  that  case  it  must  have  appeared  late  In 
the  vear,  as  the  .\pologq  refers  to  the  death  of  Milton,  which  occurred  on  Novem- 
ber 8.  On  the  other  hand  Professor  Ker  writes:  "The  State  of  Innocence  Is 
said  bv  some  authors  to  have  been  published  in  1674,  but  I  cannot  find  this 
edition.  The  book  was  entered  at  Stationers'  Hall  in  1674  (Masson's  Life  of 
Milton,  vi.  710)  ;  it  is  recorded  as  a  new  book  in  the  Catalogue  for  Hilary  Term, 


DKYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xxxix 

In  1674  two  important  critical  works  appeared  in  France: 
Boileau's  translation  of  the  treatise  On  the  Sublime  attributed  to 
Longinus,  and  Eapin's  Reflexions  sur  la  Poetique.  Both  books 
were  immediately  recognized  as  authorities  in  critical  litera- 
ture, and  both  contained  critical  dicta  helpful  to  Dryden  in  his 
time  of  need.  Eapin  declaims  against  the  affected  purism  of  his 
French  contemporaries.  Longinus  dwells  continually  on  the  dis- 
tinction between  true  sublimity  and  what  Dryden  would  call  "a 
bladdered  greatness."^  Upon  Longinus  and  Rapin,  therefore, 
Dryden  bases  much  of  his  reasoning  in  his  Apology  for  Heroic 
Poetry  and  Poetic  License. 

In  this  Apology,  after  an  eloquent  tribute  to  the  departed 
Milton,  Dryden  defends  the  dignity  of  heroic  poetry  against  the 
assaults  of  quibbling  critics.  He  thus  magnanimously  exalts  the 
reputation  of  a  great  poet  of  a  different  poetical  and  political  faith. 
He  supports  himself  at  every  step  by  citations  from  authorities,  and 
refrains  from  any  personal  charges  or  recriminations.  But,  know- 
ing the  circumstances  under  which  the  Apology  was  published,  we 
can  read  in  each  page  a  covert  attack  on  the  miserable  Settle  and 
his  fellow-railers,^  whom  Dryden  scorns  to  mention  by  name. 
Defeated  in  a  contest  of  mud-slinging,  Dryden  assumes  the  tone  of 
a  dignified,  high-minded  man  of  letters: 

"We  are  fallen  into  an  age  of  illiterate,  censorious,  and  detract- 
ing people,  who,  thus  qualitied,  set  up  for  critics. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  must  take  leave  to  tell  them,  that  they 
wholly  mistake  the  nature  of  criticism  who  think  its  business  is 
principally  to  find  fault.  ...  If  the  design,  the  conduct,  the 
thoughts,  and  the  expressions  of  a  poem,  be  generally  such  as 
proceed  from  a  true  genius  of  poetry,  the  critic  ought  to  pass  his 
judgment  in  favor  of  the  author.  It  is  malicious  and  unmanly  to 
snarl  at  the  little  lapses  of  a  pen,  from  which  Virgil  himself  stands 
not  exempted.  .  .  .  Longinus,  who  was  undoubtedly,  after 
Aristotle,  the  greatest  critic  amongst  the  Greeks,  in  his  twenty- 
seventh  chapter  IIEPI  Y^OYS  has  judiciously  preferr'd  the  sublime 
genius  that  sometimes  errs,   to  the  middling  or   inditferent  one, 

1676  (i.  e.  1676-7)  ;  the  earliest  copy  in  the  British  Museum  Is  dated  1677" 
(Essayfi  of  .John  Dryden,  i.  ol.'i).  The  omission  of  tlie  book  in  the  Term  Cata- 
logues for  1674  is  an  important  piece  of  negative  evidence,  though  not  absolutely 
conclusive  :  the  lirst  edition  of  All  for  Lore,  for  example,  is  not  recorded  In 
them.  Mr.  \\.  11.  llagcn.  of  New  York,  writes  me  that  after  a  careful  search 
for  the  1674  edition,  he  has  become  convinced  that  it  does  not  exist.  The  whole 
question  is  discussed  in  an  article  by  I'rofessor  G.  B.  Churchill,  "The  Relation 
of  Dryden's  IState  of  Innocence  to  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  and  Wycherley's  Plain 
Dealer,"  in  Modern  I'hitoloijy,  iv.  381-3S8. 

1.  See  Dedication  of  the  /Eneis   (Ss.  xiv.  216). 

2.  Dryden's  words  apply  to  Leiph  and  his  other  critics  as  well  as  to  Settle, 
but  probabiv  S(>ttle"s  satire  "had  wounded  him  most.  It  Is  of  course  possible 
that  he  is  thinking,  not  of  Settle  and  other  critics  of  The  Conquest  of  Granada, 
but  only  of  coffee-house  wits  who  had  orally  attacked  The  tStatc  of  Innocence. 
But   this  Bcems   unlikely. 


xl  INTK0DT5CTI0N 

Avliich  makes  few  faults,  but  seldom  or  never  rises  to  any  excel- 
lence."^ 

''I  wish  I  could  produce  any  one  example  of  excellent  imaging 
in  all  this  poem.  Perliaps  I  cannot;  but  that  which  comes  nearest 
it,  is  iu  these  four  lines,  whicli  have  been  sufficiently  canvass'd  by 
my  well-natur'd  censors: 

•    Seraph  and  cherub,  careless  of  their  charge, 
And  wanton,  in  full  ease  now  live  at  large: 
Unguarded  leave  the  passes  of  the  sky, 
And  all  dissolv'd  in  hallelujahs  lie. 

"  'I  have  heard,'  says  one  of  them,  'of  anchovies  dissolv'd  in 
sauce;  but  never  of  an  angel  in  hallelujahs.'^  A  mighty  witticism! 
(if  you  will  pardon  a  new  word,)  but  there  is  some  difference 
between  a  laugher  and  a  critic.  He  might  have  burlesqued  Virgil 
too,  from  whom  I  took  the  image.  Invadunt  urhem,  somno  vinoque 
sepultarn.  A  city's  being  buried,  is  just  as  proper  on  occasion,  as 
an  angel's  being  dissolv'd  in  ease  and  songs  of  triumph."^ 

To  a  rebuke  expressed  in  this  lofty,  temperate,  impersonal  tone 
Settle  could  make  no  rejoinder  without  becoming  ridiculous.*  Yet 
Dryden,  despite  the  dignified  manner  which  he  was  able  to  assume, 
must  have  been  sorely  shaken  by  the  miserable  quarrel  in  which  he 
had  engaged.  Settle's  success  with  a  drama  in  which  the  most 
ludicrous  features  of  the  heroic  plays  were  present  in  an  exaggerated 
form,  would  do  far  more  than  The  Rehearsal  to  disgust  him  with 
the  whole  type.  And  however  much  Dryden  might  try  to  find 
comfort  in  Eapin  and  in  Boileau's  Longinus,  the  general  tenor  of 
those  critics'  writings  was  opposed  to  the  swelling  style  and  extrava- 
gant plots  of  the  heroic  plays.  Dryden  may  also  have  been  in- 
fluenced by  Boileau's  Art  Poetique,  published  in  1674,  although  he 
does  not  refer  to  it  until  a  later  period.^  The  whole  drift  of  con- 
temporary French  criticism,  for  which  Dryden,  from  the  logical 
temper  of  his  mind,  had  a  sincere  admiration,  was  towards  a 
temperate,  reserved,  dignified,  and  chastened  style,  such  as  he  later 

1.  Ss.  V.  112,  113. 

2.  Dryden  here  evidently  rebukes  some  coffee-house  critic  of  The  State  of 
Innocence. 

3.  Ss.  V.  121,  122. 

4.  Settle  made  no  furthor  attack  on  Dryden  until  after  the  publication  of 
Ahsalom  and  Achitophel,  to  which  he  foolishly  replied  with  his  Absalom  Senior; 
or,  Achitophel  Trannpros'd.  For  this  worthless  satire  Dryden  gave  him  deserved 
chastisement ;  see  p.  xxxvili. 

5.  Tonson  states  that  Dryden  revised  a  translation  of  Boileau's  Art 
Poetique,  made  by  Sir  William  Soame  in  1680,  and  published  in  1683;  see  Ss.  xv. 
223.  Dryden's  first  direct  allusion  to  the  Art  Poitique  seems  to  be  in  the 
Dincmirse  concerninfi  f^alire,  1602  (Ss.  xiii.  22).  A  similar  passage  occurs  in  a 
letter  to  Dennis,  1604  (Ss.  xviii.  116).  In  the  Apology  fw  Heroic  Poetry 
Dryden  groups  Boileau  with  Rapin  as  a  great  critic,  but  does  not  refer  to  any 
particular  work  (Ss.  v.  115).  In  the  preface  to  Troilus  and  Cre8sid<i  (1679) 
he  seems  to  have  borrowed  from  the  Art  Po6tique  without  specific  acknowl- 
edgement ;  see  p.  1. 


DEYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xli 

attained  in  All  for  Love,  in  his  translation  of  Virgil,  and  in  his 
Fables. 

It  is  then  no  wonder  that  Dryden  produced  no  new  acting  drama 
during  the  year  16 T4,  He  was  probably  dissatisfied  with  the  plays 
that  had  brought  him  temporary  fame/  and  harassed  by  mournful 
reflections  on  the  fickleness  of  court  and  popular  favor.  Yet  he 
must  have  felt  it  pusillanimous  entirely  to  abandon  the  stage,  and, 
more  especially,  his  beloved  heroic  plays.  By  doing  so  he  would 
have  confessed  defeat.  Hence,  rousing  himself  once  more  to  work, 
in  1675  Dryden  produced  Aureng-Zehe,  his  last  rimed  tragedy.^ 

Though  at  first  sight  similar  to  The  Conquest  of  Granada, 
Aurcng-Zehe  is  in  many  ways  sharply  distinguished  from  its 
"heroic"  predecessors.  The  plot  is  simpler,  the  ciiaracters  more 
plausible,  the  dialogue  "often  domestic,  and  therefore  susceptible 
of  sentiments  accommodated  to  familiar  incidents."^  Drvden  has 
entirely  altered  the  historic  events  that  form  the  background  of  his 
play,  and  has  constructed  a  plot  resembling  that  of  the  Mithridate 
of  Kacine.*  The  adoption  of  liacine  for  a  model  was  certainly  not 
without  its  effect.  As  Scott  remarks,  "there  is  a  grave  and  moral 
turn  in  many  of  the  speeches,  which  brings  it  nearer  the  style  of  a 
French  tragedy."^  The  unities  of  time  and  place  are  closely 
observed,  and  the  subordinate  actions  are  subservient  and  helpful 
to  the  main  interest.  Though  some  deaths  occur  on  the  stage, 
tumult  is  in  the  main  avoided.  On  the  whole,  Aurcng-Zehe  is,  so 
far  as  form  is  concerned,  a  compromise  between  the  heroic  plays 
and  the  classic  French  model.  But  in  drawing  his  characters 
Dryden  spurns  the  restraints  of  French  etiquette  and  strives  to  imi- 
tate his  Elizabethan  predecessors.  Shakspere,  not  Calprenede,  or 
even  Racine,  is  here  the  source  of  his  inspiration. 

The  critical  utterances  published  with  Aureng-Zehe  prove  that 

1.  See  the  dedication  of  Aurcng-Zehe :  "I  desire  to  be  no  longer  tlie  Sisy- 
plius  of  the  stage  ...  I  never  thought  myself  very  fit  for  an  employment, 
where  many  of  my  predecessors  have  exeell'd  me  In  all  kinds  ;  and  some  of  my 
contemi)oraries,  even  in  my  own  partial  judgment,  have  outdone  me  in  comedy. 
Some  little  hopes  I  have  .  .  .  that  I  may  make  the  world  some  part  of 
amends  for  many  ill  plays  by  an  heroic  poem"    (Ss.  v.  195,  196). 

2.  Malone  (I.  i.  115)  states  that  Aincitf/Zcbe  "was  exhibited  in  the  spring 
of  1G75,  or  l)efore,  being  entered  in  the  Statio)ters'  Reoistcr  on  the  20th  of  No- 
vember in  that  year,  and  published  probably  in  the  next  month,  though  according 
to  the  usual  practice  of  booksellers  it  bears  the  date  of  1G76."  But  in  tlie  Term 
Cataloyucs  it  is  noted  for  I-:aster  Term,  1676. 

3.  Johnson'.s  Jjife  of  Dryden. 

4.  Langbaine  (Account  of  the  Enplish  Dramatic  Poets,  1691,  p.  156)  says 
that  the  source  of  Dryden's  plot  is  to  be  found  in  Tavernier's  Voyages  into  the 
Indies,  vol.  1,  pt.  2,  ch.  2.  Since  Tavernier's  book  was  not  published  until 
107U-77 — and  the  second  part  of  it,  containin;:  tlie  Aureng-Zcbc  material,  in  the 
latter  of  these  two  years  -this  statement  must  be  a  mistake.  I  am  indebted  to 
Holzhausen  (EnijUschc  Stiidirn.  xiii.  44;{.  444;  xv.  14.  15)  for  my  characteriza- 
tion of  Aureni/Zcbt  and  the  iniiication  of  a  resemblance  to  Uaclne.  Mithridate 
was  at  this  time  a  new  play,  havin:;  been  acted  and  published  in  107;{.  Holz- 
hausen also  states  that  one  episode  of  the  plot  of  AuniKj-Zebc  is  taken  from 
Le  Orand  Ci/nis. 

5.  Ss.  1.  175. 


xUl 


INTRODUCTION" 


these  alteration?  were  conscious  and  deliberate.  In  his  dedication 
(to  Lord  JIulgrave),  his  prologue,  and  his  epilogue,  Dryden  shows 
an  increased  regard  for  the  rules  and  the  decorum,  though  not  the 
elaborate  etiquette  of  the  French  stage.  He  is  dissatisfied  with  his 
own  dramas  and  full  of  admiration  for  the  great  Elizabethan 
dramatists,  particularly  Shakspere.  Finally,  he  is  eager  to  throw 
off  the  restraints  of  rime,  which  he  had  so  long  defended  as  useful 
to  every  poet : 

-He  has  now  another  taste  of  wit; 


And,   to  confess  a  truth,  tho'   out  of  time, 
Grows  weary  of  his  long-lov'd  mistress,  Eime. 
Passion  's  too  fierce  to  be  in  fetters  bound, 
And  nature  flies  him  like  enchanted  ground. 

Within  this  storm  and  stress  period  of  Dryden's  life,  from  1G71 
to  1675,  we  may  place  his  abandonment  of  bombast  and  his  adop- 
tion of  "beautiful  turns  of  words"  as  a  characteristic  of  his  style. 
His  rejection  of  those  swelling  phrases  that  he  later  called  "Dalilahs 
of  the  theater'^  will  at  once  be  seen  if  we  compare  The  Conquest 
of  Granada  with  Aurcng-Zehe.  What  is  meant  by  "beautiful  turns 
of  words"  will  be  made  clear  by  the  following  citations  from  his 
Discourse  concerning  Satire,  published  in  1692: 

"Had  I  time,  I  could  enlarge  on  the  beautiful  turns  of  words 
and  thoughts,  which  are  as  requisite  in  this,  as  in  heroic  poetry 
itself,  of  which  this  satire  is  undoubtedly  a  species.  With  these 
beautiful  turns,  I  confess  myself  to  have  been  unacquainted,  till 
about  twenty  years  ago,  in  a  conversation  which  I  had  with  that 
noble  wit  of  Scotland,  Sir  George  Mackenzie,  he  ask'd  me  why  I 
did  not  imitate  in  my  verses  the  turns  of  Mr.  Waller  and  Sir  John 
Denham,  of  which  he  repeated  many  to  me.  I  had  often  read  with 
pleasure,  and  with  some  profit,  those  two  fathers  of  our  English 
poetry,  but  had  not  seriously  enough  consider'd  those  beauties 
which  give  the  last  perfection  to  their  works.  ...  I  had 
recourse  to  .  .  .  Spenser,  the  author  of  that  immortal  poem 
call'd  The  Fairy  Queen,  and  there  I  met  with  that  which  I  had  been 
looking  for  so  long  in  vain.  .  .  .  Virgil  and  Ovid  are  the  two 
principal  fountains  of  them  in  Latin  poetry.  And  the  French  at 
this  day  are  so  fond  of  them,  that  they  judge  them  to  be  the  first 
beauties;  delicat  et  hien  tourne  are  the  highest  commendations 
which  they  bestow  on  somewhat  which  they  think  a  masterpiece. 

"An  example  of  the  turn  on  words,  amongst  a  thousand  others, 
is  that  in  the  last  book  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses: 


1.     Dedication  of  The  Spanish  Friar,  1681   (p.  308,  1.  26). 


DRYDEX  AS  DRAMATIST  xliii 

Heu !    quantum  scelus  est,  in  viscera,  viscera  condi ! 
Congestoque  avidum  pinguescere  corpora  corpus; 
Alteriusque  animantem  animantis  viverc  leto.'" 

Perhaps  the  following  lines  from  Aureng-Zebe  may  illustrate 
Dryden's  meaning  from  his  own  work : 

Wert  thou  to  empire  by  my  baseness  brought, 
And  wouldst  thou  ravish  what  so  dear  I  bought? 
Dear!   for  my  conscience  and  its  peace  I  gave; — 
Why  was  my  reason  made  my  passion's  slave? 
I  see  Heaven  's  justice ;  thus  the  powers  divine 
Pay  crimes  with  crimes,  and  punish  mine  by  thine.' 

We  may  now  sum  up  the  significant  changes  that  have  taken 
place  in  Dryden's  critical  views  between  1665  and  1676.  In  An 
Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  Dryden  had  advocated  a  compromise 
between  French  theatrical  rules  and  English  variety  of  action;  of 
the  two,  inclining  rather  to  the  latter.  Then,  in  the  heroic  plays, 
he  was  led  to  neglect  entirely  the  real  spirit  of  the  French  classic 
drama;  and,  while  preserving  some  outward  respect  for  critical 
rules,  wrote  plays  that  combined  English  noise  and  bustle  with  a 
general  atmosphere,  and  with  types  of  character,  based  on  the 
French  romances.  Now-he  seems  to  have  formed  a  new  and  quite 
different  plan  of  compromise  between  the  two  schools.  Accepting 
more  fully  than  before  the  rules  of  the  French  drama,  he  attempted 
to  combine  with  them  a  drawing  of  character  modeled  on  that  of 
the  Elizabethan  dramatists. 

We  should  not  be  surprised,  therefore,  to  find  Aureng-Zebe 
followed  immediately  by  .1//  for  Love,  a  tragedy  in  which  Dryden 
carried  out  more  fully  the  same  methods  of  work,  and,  taking  for 
his  subject  the  familiar  theme  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  laid  aside 
the  rimed  verse  of  the  heroic  plays,  and  imitated  Shakspere's  style 
as  well  as  his  drawing  of  character.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  two 

- 

dramas  are  separated  by  about  two  years.  During  this  interval  of 
silence,  which  is  a  sufficient  proof  of  his  disgust  with  the  theater, 
Dryden  was  undoubtedly  maturing  his  theories  of  dramatic  con- 
struction. Shortly  after  he  had  written  his  great  tragedy,  and  be- 
fore he  had  printed  it,  an  important  critical  work  appeared  in  Eng- 
land, which  undoubtedly  confirmed  him  in  his  changed  point  of 
view. 

In  the  latter  part  of  1677  Thomas  Rymer  published  a  little 
book  called  The  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age  considered  and  examined 
by  the  Practice  of  the  Ancients  and  the  Common  Sense  of  All 

1.  Ss.  xiil.  115-117.  The  quotation  from  Ovid  is  Metamorphoses,  xr. 
88-90. 

2.  Act.   iv    (Ss.   V.  270). 


xUv  INTRODUCTION 

Agcs.^  In  it  he  condemned  unsparingly  all  the  tendencies  of  the 
national  English  tragedy,  first  by  arguments  based  on  general 
dramatic  theory,  second  by  a  detailed  analysis  of  three  plays  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher:  RoUo,  The  Maid's  Tragedy,  and  A  King 
and  No  King,  all  of  which  Dryden  had  praised  in  An  Essay  of 
Dramatic  Poesy.-  In  fact,  though  Dryden  had  written  more  fully 
of  comedy,  and  Eymer  discusses  only  tragedy,  Eymer's  treatise, 
which  was  the  first  long  piece  of  dramatic  criticism  published  in 
England  since  1G68,  was  in  a  certain  sense  a  reply  to  Dryden's 
essay.  The  Greek  tragic  poets,  of  whom  Dryden  had  the  most 
limited  knowledge,  and  to  whom  he  had  paid  only  perfunctory 
attention,  Eymer  recognized  as  establishing  an  absolute  standard 
of  taste.  The  English  tradition,  for  which  Dryden  had  shown  a 
strong  affection,  Kymcr  denounced  as  worthless  because  of  its 
divergence  from  ancient  methods.  Modern  philosophers,  he  says, 
agree  well  enough  in  the  main  with  the  ancients,  and  hence  deserve 
respect;  modern  dramatists  have  taken  "a  by-road  that  runs  directly 
cross  to  that  of  nature,  manners,  and  philosophy,  which  gained  the 
ancients  so  great  veneration."^  Eymer  lacks  entirely  the  instinct 
of  a  practical  dramatist.  What  pleased  the  ancient  Greeks,  he 
argues,  being  based  on  universal  reason,  must  be  pleasing  to  all 
time;  the  success  of  plays  based  on  opposite  principles  can  be 
explained  only  by  accidental  causes,  such  as  the  excellence  of  the 
actors.  In  style  and  general  manner,  as  in  opinions,  Eymer  is  a 
strong  contrast  to  Dryden.  He  writes  in  clumsy,  lumbering  sen- 
tences, destitute  of  grace  or  dignity.  In  controversy  he  adopts  a 
carping,  sneering  tone,  quite  the  opposite  of  Dryden's  kindly 
urbanity. 

On  the  other  hand,  though  Eymer  has  no  sense  of  style  and 
almost  no  literary  taste,  he  shows  throughout  his  work  the  scholas- 
tic, logical  temperament  that  formed  one  element  in  Dryden's 
own  character,*  and  for  which  in  others  Dryden  had  always  the 
highest  respect.  Eymer  professes  to  make  universal  reason  the 
guide  of  all  his  opinions.  His  doctrines,  like  those  of  the  pseudo- 
classic  school  in  general,  are  partly  drawn  from  Aristotle's  Poetics 

1.  This  book  is  mentioned  In  the  Term  Cntalooue  for  Michaelmas  Term, 
1677.  which  was  licensed  for  the  press  on  November  26.  The  preceding  catalogue, 
for  Trinity  Term,  was  licensed  on  .July  5.  Dryden's  All  for  Lore  was  entered  at 
Stationers'  Hall  on  January  .31,  1678  (Malone,  I.  1.  116).  As  the  entry  was 
usually  made  about  six  months  after  the  first  acting  of  a  play,  we  may  assume 
that  All  for  Lore  was  written  at  least  as  early  as  the  first  half  of  1677,  before 
the  publication  of  Rymer's  volume. — To-day  Rymer  is  best  known  by  Macaulay's 
contemptuous  epithet  (in  his  Essay  on  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson),  "the  worst 
critic  that  ever  lived."  A  good  summary  of  his  opinions  is  given  in  Saintsbury's 
History  of  Criticism,  li.  391-397.  See  also  Lounsbury,  Shakespeare  as  a  Dra- 
matic Artist,  pp.  227-241. 

2.  Ss.  XV.  .320,  326.  SS.'). 

3.  The  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age,  ed.  2,  1692,  p.  3. 

4.  Compare  p.  xxvl. 


DKYDEN  AS  DEAMATIST  xiv 

and  from  the  practice  of  the  Greek  tragedians,  of  whom  he  had  a 
real,  though  prejudiced  knowledge;  and  partly  result  from  the 
political,  social,  and  philosophical  theories  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. Thus  Eymer  accepts  Aristotle's  definition  of  tragedy  and 
insists  on  pity  and  fear  as  the  only  emotions  proper  to  be  excited 
by  it.  But  in  contrast  to  Aristotle,  he  dwells  continually  on  the 
necessity  for  a  moral  aim  in  every  literary  work.  Poetic  justice 
must  never  be  neglected;  it  is  more  elevated  and  philosophical 
than  human  justice.  The  tragedians  Sophocles  and  Euripides 
entered  into  a  confederacy  with  the  philosopher  Socrates  for 
teaching  virtue  and  good  life.  Fancy,^  Eymer  puts  in  a  subor- 
dinate position;  like  faith  in  religion,  it  may  supplement  reason, 
but  not  contradict  it.  Dryden  might  well  be  abashed  by  conclusions 
reached  through  a  method  for  which  he  had  an  innate  respect,  and 
supported  by  a  learning  much  greater  than  his  own. 

For  us,  Eymer  is  important  only  from  an  historical  point  of 
view,  but  in  his  own  time  he  was  regarded  as  a  great  critic.  A  lucky 
chance  has  preserved  for  us  Dryden's  first  impressions  of  him. 
Eymer  sent  to  Dryden  a  copy  of  his  book,  on  the  blank  leaves  of 
which  the  latter  jotted  down  some  notes  for  a  future  reply.  The 
projected  essay  was  never  written,  but  the  scattered  notes  have  been 
printed  under  the  title.  Heads  of  an  Answer  to  Bymer's  Remarks 
on  the  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age.^ 

In  these  Heads  Dryden  shows  less  inclination  than  before  to 
defend  English  tragedy  on  grounds  of  general  reason ;  but  he  makes 
a  strong  historical  argument  for  it,  and  defends  English  style  and 
character-drawing.  He  argues  that  the  plot,  which  is  the  chief 
subject  of  Eymer's  treatise,  is  of  no  such  exclusive  importance  in 
tragedy  as  Eymer  would  have  us  believe.^  Dryden's  general  verdict 
is  as  follows : 

"My  judgment  on  this  piece  is  this:  that  it  is  extremely  learned, 
but  that  the  author  of  it  is  better  read  in  the  Greek  than  in  the 
English  poets;  that  all  authors  ought  to  study  this  critique,  as  the 
best  account  I  have  ever  seen  of  the  ancients;  that  the  model  of 
tragedy  he  has  here  given  is  excellent,  and  extreme  correct ;  but 
that  it  is  not  the  only  model  of  all  tragedy,  because  it  is  too  much 
circumscrib'd  in  plot,  characters,  etc.;  and  lastly,  that  we  may  be 
taught  here  justly  to  admire  and  imitate  the  ancients,  without 

1.  By  "fancy"  Rymer  means  approximately  what  we  caU  "imagination." 
In  his  time  the  two  words  were  used  as  synonyms. 

2.  It  Is  impossible  to  prove  that  Dryden  wrote  these  notes  Immediately 
after  reading  Rymer's  book,  but  internal  evidence  points  strongly  In  that  direc 
tion. 

3.  It  is  more  difficult  to  judge  of  Dryden's  point  of  view  in  these  hastily- 
written,  confused  llcadx  than  in  a  developed  essay.  Justification  of  my  summary 
would  Involve  very  extensive  quotations. 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION 

giving  them  the  preference,  with  this  author,  in  prejudice  to  our 
own  country."^ 

When  confronted  by  the  mathematical  Eymer,  Dryden  shows 
himself  not  a  logician,  but  an  empiricist  and  impressionist.  Beaten 
on  one  side  of  his  nature,  he  retreats  to  the  other.  His  discussion 
is  eminently  suggestive  and  practical,  but  shows  no  understanding 
of  Aristotle's  theory  of  tragedy;  no  appreciation  even  of  Eymer's 
tlicory  tiiat  tragic  justice  should  transcend  human  justice.  Final !}% 
as  if  conscious  of  his  own  weakness,  and  anxious  to  set  one  author- 
ity against  another,  Dryden  makes  repeated  references  to  Rapin. 

One  can  only  conjecture  why  Dryden  did  not  expand  these 
Heads  into  a  regular  essay.  Perhaps  he  was  simply  lazy,  or 
reluctant  to  engage  in  a  fresh  literary  controversy ;  perhaps  he  felt 
too  keenly  his  own  lack  of  scholarship.  But  another  explanation 
of  Dryden's  silence,  based  on  the  known  facts  of  his  literary  de- 
velopment, is^at  least  possible. 

T]ie  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age  was,  as  Ave  have  seen,  a  direct 
attack  on  the  opinions  which  Dryden  had  expressed  in  An  Essay  of 
Dramatic  Poesy,  and  which  he  had  never  formally  abjured.  Hence, 
on  receiving  Eymer's  book,  Dryden  felt  moved  to  attempt  a  defense 
of  his  beloved  Elizabethan  authors,  and  immediately  set  down  the 
notes  which  we  now  possess.  But  with  advancing  age,  and  for  the 
special  reasons  that  have  been  already  suggested,  he  now  felt  much 
more  inclined  towards  classicism,  or  pseudo-classicism,  than  he  had 
a  dozen  years  before.  Hence,  even  in  these  first  notes,  he  expresses 
admiration  for  Eymer's  work,  and  partial  sympathy  with  his  views. 
As  the  days  passed,  he  found  himself  in  closer  sympathy  with 
Eymer  than  he  at  first  suspected,  and  so  laid  aside  his  plan  for  a 
reply.  In  the  Heads  he  had  made  his  last  argument  for  English 
tragi-comedy  on  grounds  of  absolute  reason;-  from  his  failure  to 
develop  them  we  may  date  his  definite  adoption  of  the  pseudo- 
classic  ideal  of  dramatic  construction. 

The  production  of  All  for  Love  in  1677,  with  its  combination  of 
English  style  and  French  construction,  marks  the  highest  point  of 
Dryden's  dramatic  career.  In  this  tragedy,  while  in  style,  and  to 
some  extent  in  the  drawing  of  character,  he  "professes  to  imitate 


1.  Ss.  XV.  390.  ?.oi. 

2.  "For  the  fable  itself:  it  is  in  the  English  more  adorn'd  with  episodes 
and  larger  than  in  the  Greei^  poets  ;  consequently  more  diverting.  For  if  the 
action  be  but  one,  and  that  plain,  without  any  coiintorturn  of  design  or  episode 
i.  p.,  underplot,  how  can  it  be  so  pleasing  as  the  English,  which  have  both  under- 
plot and  a  turn'd  design,  which  keeps  the  audience  in  expectation  of  the  catas- 
trophe? whereas  In  the  Greek  poets  we  see  thro'  the  whole  design  at  first" 
(Ss.  XV.  387,  388).  Here  Dryden  does  not  expressly  name  tragi-comedv  but  lie 
probably  has  that  type  in  mind,  rather  than  plays  of  complicated,  thougli  nurelv 
tragic  action.  ^        ' 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xlvii 

the  divine  Shakspere/'^  Dryden  applies  the  pseudo-classic  dramatic 
rules  to  the  familiar  subject  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  "I  have 
endeavor'd  in  this  play,"  he  states,  "to  follow  the  practice  of  the 
ancients,  who,  as  Mr.  Uymer  has  judiciously  observed,  are  and  ought 
to  be  our  masters."^  "The  fabric  of  the  play  is  regular  enough,  as 
to  the  inferior  parts  of  it ;  and  the  unities  of  time,  place,  and  action 
more  exactly  observ'd,  than  perhaps  the  English  theater  requires. 
Particularly,  the  action  is  so  much  one  that  it  is  the  only  of  the 
kind  without  episode  or  underplot;  every  scene  in  the  tragedy 
conducing  to  the  main  design,  and  every  act  concluding  with  a  turn 
of  it."^  Dryden  might  have  added  that,  as  in  Eacine,  each  act  of 
All  for  Love  is  composed  of  a  single  scene,  in  the  English  sense  of 
the  term ;  that  the  time  of  action  falls  within  a  single  day,  and 
that  the  place  of  action  changes  but  once,  being  in  the  first  act  the 
temple   of   Isis,   in   the   remaining   acts   the   palace  of   Cleopatra. 

For  this  play  Dryden  had  an  enduring  affection.  Writing  much 
later,  in  1695,  he  tells  us:  ^he  faults  of  [The  Spanish  Friar] 
are  in  the  kind  of  it,  which  is  tragi-comedy.  But  it  was  given  to 
the  people;  and  I  never  writ  anything  for  myself  but  Antony  and 
Cleopatra."* 

All  for  Love  is  now  by  far  the  best  known  of  Dry  den's  plays. 
In  excellence  of  style  and  character  drawing  only  Don  Sebastian 
can  compare  with  it.  But  Don  Sebastian  is  disagreeable  in  sub- 
ject, is  so  long  as  to  be  tedious,  and  is  disfigured  by  inharmonious 
comic  scenes.  Yet  All  for  Love,  great  as  are  its  merits,  is  not  of 
an  essentially  different  nature  from  its  author's  earlier  dramas. 
In  it  many  traits  of  the  heroic  plays  still  survive.  Antony's  sub- 
mission to  his  beloved  is  rather  that  of  Almanzor  or  Aureng-Zebe, 
the  conventional  valiant  lover  of  the  French  romances,  than  the 
devotion  of  Shakspere's  living  and  breathing  hero.^  So  Cleopatra 
loses  her  intellectual  brilliancy  and  her  "infinite  variety"  and  be- 
comes a  fond  and  faitliful  mistress.  According  to  the  conventions 
of  the  time,  no  tragic  heroine  must  be  guilty  of  inconstancy. 
Hence  Dryden,  transforming  Cleopatra's  character,  makes  the 
catastrophe  of  the  play  depend  on  her  momentary  yielding  to  an 
unworthy  suggestion  from  Alexas.  For  an  instant  she  becomes, 
not  unfaithful,  but  coquettish !  In  agony  she  exclaims,  repentant 
for  her  crime: 

Thus  one  minute's  feigning  has  destroy 'd 

My  whole  life's  truth." 

1.  Preface  to  AH  for  Love,  p.  2:54,  11.  35-45  and  pp.  229-231.  It  would  be 
more  accurate  to  say  that  in  the  drawing  of  character  ho  is  influenced  by  the 
general   English   tradition. 

2.  Ibid.  p.   'S.'A,  11.  25-27. 

3.  Ibid.  p.  229,  11.   i;»-24. 

4.  .1  I'aKtlltl  of  I'ottiy  and  Painting,  Ss.  xvll.  333. 

5.  Dryden  seems  to  admit  this  in  his  rrologue,  11.   10-13. 

6.  On  this  whole  topic  see  Scott  (Ss.  vi.  243),  aud  Lounsbury,  ^hakcfipcare 
as   a   Dramatic  Artist,   pp.    237,    238.      Dryden's    treatment    of    Cressida,    in    his 


xlviu  INTRODUCTION 

Still,  the  imitation  of  Slmkspere  has  borne  fruit;  the  speeches 
of  Antony  and  of  Cleopatra,  though  they  may  express  conventional 
emotion,  are  so  masterly  in  expression  that,  as  one  reads,  their 
fundamental  unreality  is  concealed.  Dryden's  progress  is  even  more 
plainly  seen  in  the  secondary  figures  of  his  drama.  Yentidius  and 
Octavia  are  agitated  by  genuine  passion,  not  by  the  finespun  no- 
tions, drawn  from  books  of  etiquette,  that  control  Ozmyn  and 
Benzayda. 

Like  its  predecessor  The  Conquest  of  Granada,  All  for  Love  is 
not  free  from  the  taint  of  low  morality  that  disfigures  nearly  the 
whole  Eestoration  drama.  The  play,  with  all  its  dignity  and 
power,  is  but  a  panegyric  on  illicit  love.  Dryden  himself  recognized 
this,  and  admitted  that  the  introduction  of  Octavia  was  an  unhappy 
thought,  dividing  the  interest  of  the  play : 

"i  had  not  enough  consider'd,  that  the  compassion  she  mov'd  to 
herself  and  children  was  destructive  to  that  which  I  reserved  for 
Antony  and  Cleopatra;  whose  mutual  love,  being  founded  upon 
vice,  must  lessen  the  favor  of  the  audience  to  them,  when  virtue 
and  innocence  were  oppress'd  by  it."^ 

The  comparison  of  All  for  Love  with  Shakspere's  Antony  and 
Cleopatra  is  a  fascinating  problem.  The  best  tribute  to  Dryden's 
power  is  that  one  can  read  him  with  enjoyment  immediately  after 
finishing  Shakspere's  play.  Dryden  treats  the  old  story  from  a 
new  point  of  view;  he  does  not  merely  remodel  and  debase  a  great 
drama,  as  he  had  done  in  the  version  of  The  Tempest  made  by 
Davenant  and  himself.-  His  object  is  to  simplify  the  action, 
and  thus  to  concentrate  the  reader's  entire  attention  on  the  crisis 
in  the  story  of  the  two  lovers.  This  to  a  certain  extent  he  succeeds 
in  doing.  But  at  the  same  time,  owing  to  his  transformation  of 
the  characters  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  he  fails  in  a  more  impor- 
tant direction.  In  Shakspere,  the  tragedy  depends  on  the  real 
struggle,  in  Antony  himself,  between  his  blind  infatuation  for 
Cleopatra  and  his  "Koman  thoughts."  This  gives  a  central  unity 
to  a  superficially  irregular  drama.  In  Dryden,  Antony  is  already 
lost  at  the  beginning  of  the  play ;  the  struggle  is  over ;  the  Eoman 

remodeling  of  Shakspere's  Troilus  and  Crcisirla,  Is  still  more  striking:.  He  makes 
her,  this  proverbial  false  one,  into  a  tender  and  faithful  maiden,  who  meets  her 
death,  like  Desdemona,  because  of  a  misunderstanding;.  I'erhaps  he  was  influenced 
directly  by  Rymer,  whose  utterance  on  this  subject  is  so  characteristic  as  to 
deserve  quotation  : 

"Tragedy  cannot  represent  a  woman  -without  modesty  as  natural  and  essen- 
tial to  her. 

"If  a  woman  has  got  any  accidental  historical  impudence;  if,  documented  in 
the  school  of  Xanna  or  Ileloisa,  she  is  furnished  with  some  stock  of  acquired 
Impudence,  she  Is  no  longer  to  stalk  in  tragedy  on  her  high  shoes  ;  but  must 
rub  off  and  pack  down  with  the  carriers  into  the  province  of  comedy,  there  to 
be  kicked  about  and  exposed  to  laughter"   (Op.  cit.  pp.  113,  114). 

1.  See  preface  to  AH  for  Lore,  p.   229,  11.  26-.30. 

2.  See  p.  xxiv.  To  be  just  to  Dryden,  this  debased  play  was  mainly  the 
work  of  Davenant. 


DEYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  xlix 

warrior  has  become  "a  sighing  swain  of  Arcadia."^  Yentidius  tries 
to  save  him,  first  by  direct  exliortations,  then  by  means  of  Octavia 
and  her  children,  and  finally  by  working  on  Antony's  jealousy  of 
Dolabella;  but  he  is  already  a  doomed  man.  In  a  word.  All  for 
Love,  like  the  heroic  plays,  is  narrative  rather  than  dramatic  in  its 
structure.  The  action,  despite  its  confinement  within  a  single  day, 
is,  as  Aristotle  would  call  it,  "episodic ;"  like  that  of  The  Conquest 
of  Granada,  it  deals  with  successive  adventures  in  the  life  of  one 
man,  not  with  one  central  crisis.  No  mere  observation  of  rules 
could  make  Drydeu  a  truly  dramatic  poet.- 

Despite  its  faults,  All  for  Love  is  the  happiest  result  of  ine 
French  influence  on  English  tragedy.  However  conventional  the 
emotion  expressed  in  it  may  be,  this  tragedy  remains  alive  to-day 
by  virtue  of  its  vigorous,  dignified,  and  truly  poetic  style,  and  of 
the  sustained  interest  of  its  action.  It  is  the  best  proof  that  Dry- 
den,  who  through  certain  qualities  of  his  genius  became  the  founder 
of  the  eighteenth  century  "classic"  literature,  was  by  other  and  not 
less  essential  qualities  closely  related  to  the  great  Elizabethan  poets 
and  dramatists. 

III.  Dryden  had  now  definitely  adopted  the  point  of  view  of 
French  dramatic  criticism,  though  his  devotion  to  it  was  tempered 
by  his  admiration  for  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  and  above  all  for 
Shakspere.  From  this  position  he  never  formally  receded,  but  in  his 
own  writing  for  the  stage  he  remained  an  opportunist,  and  was 
frequently  unfaithful  to  his  critical  principles. 

In  16T8  Dryden  joined  Lee  in  writing  CEdipus,  a  tragedy  on  a 
classic  subject,  and  constructed  according  to  the  French  rules. 
In  his  preface,  probably  remembering  Kymer's  book,  he  even 
apologizes  for  expanding  the  simple  plot  of  Sophocles  by  the  addi- 
tion of  a  secondary  intrigue,  though  he  has  the  precedent  of  Cor- 
neille  to  justify  his  course.  "Perhaps,  after  all,"  he  admits,  "if  we 
could  think  so,  the  ancient  method,  as  it  is  the  easiest,  is  also  the 

1.  See  Seotfs  Life  of  Dryden:  Ss.  i.  183. 

2.  In  this  discussion  of  All  for  Love  the  editor  is  much  indebted  to  Miss 
Margaret  Sherwood,  Dryden's  Dramatic  Theory  and  Practice  (Yale  University 
Dissertation,  1898),  pp.  85-93;  and  to  Ilannmann,  Dryden's  Trapodie  "All  for 
Love"  und  ihr  Verhdltniss  zti  Shakespeare's  "Antony  and  Cleopdtra."  Rostoclt, 
1903.  Dellus's  short  treatment  of  this  topic  in  his  article  "Dryden  und  Shake- 
speare" (Jahrbuch  der  Deiitsehen  Hhakespeare-Oesellschaft,  iv.  0-4U)  is  extremely 
unfair  to  Dryden.  Lundbeck's  more  extended  comparison  of  the  two  dramas 
(in  his  Dryden  aom  Tragedicdiffter,  Copenhagen,  1894)  is  impartial  and  pene- 
tratinR.  Of  .1//  for  Love  ho  writes:  "The  narrow,  circumscribed  compass  of 
the  drama  narrows  its  effect.  We  hear  accounts  of  Cifsar's  army  outside  the 
town,  and  of  a  battle  and  a  victory;  but  we  see  only  the  mutual  relations  of 
two  lovers  and  their  sad  conclusion.  That  an  event  of  world-wide  Importance 
lies  behind  this  conclusion,  we  do  not  really  believe"  (pp.  lOG,  107).  His  general 
verdict  on  the  two  dramas  is  as  follows  :  "One  really  cannot  judge  Dryden  In 
comparison  with  Shakspere.  .  .  .  Each  of  these  dramas  Is  an  expression  of 
the  peculiarities  of  its  age  :  Shakspere's  of  the  comprehensive  view  of  the  Renais- 
sance, its  grasj)  of  totality;  Dryden's  of  the  analytic  criticism  of  the  pseudo- 
classic  time,  and  of  its  narrowly  circumseribcd  vision  ;  the  first  of  youth  and 
passion  In  art,  the  second  of  discretion  and  the  rule  of  reason"    (p.   llli). 


1  INTRODUCTION 

most  natural  and  the  best.  For  variety,  as  it  is  manag'd,  is  too 
often  subject  to  breed  distraction;  and  while  we  would  please  too 
many  ways,  for  want  of  art  in  the  conduct,  we  please  in  none."^ 

In  the  next  year,  1679,  Dryden  emphasized  his  belief  in  French 
principles  by  remodeling  on  classic  lines  Shakspere's  distinctly 
"irregular"  play,  Troihis  and  Cressida.^  With  this  drama  he  pub- 
lislicd  an  important  critical  preface,  containing  a  short  essay  on 
"tlie  grounds  of  criticism  in  tragedy,"  and  composed  in  large 
measure  of  extracts  from  previous  critics,  especially  Longinus  (in 
Boileau's  translation),  Eapin,  and  Bossu  (a  new  French  critic 
whose  Traite  du  Poeme  E pique  had  been  published  in  1675). 
Dryden  also  quotes  from  Aristotle's  Poetics,  probably  through  a 
translation,  and  from  Quintilian,  and  he  was  somewhat  indebted 
to  Boileau's  Art  Poetique,  published  in  1674.^  By  the  following 
denunciation  of  tragi-comedy,  which  he  had  so  enthusiastically 
praised  in  An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy,*'  he  shows  his  conversion 
to  the  classic  point  of  view : 

"Two  different  independent  actions  distract  the  attention  and 
concernment  of  the  audience,  and  consequently  destroy  the  intention 
of  the  poet ;  if  his  business  be  to  move  terror  and  pity,  and  one  of 
his  actions  be  comical,  the  other  tragical,  the  former  will  divert 
the  people,  and  utterly  make  void  his  greater  purpose.  Therefore, 
as  in  perspective,  so  in  tragedy,  there  must  be  a  point  of  sight  in 
which  all  the  lines  terminate;  otherwise  the  eye  wanders,  and  the 
work  is  false.  This  was  the  practice  of  the  Grecian  stage.  But 
Terence  made  an  innovation  in  the  Roman :  all  his  plays  have 
double  actions;  for  it  was  his  custom  to  translate  two  Greek 
comedies,  and  to  weave  them  into  one  of  his,  yet  so,  that  both  their 
actions  were  comical,  and  one  was  principal,  the  other  but  secondary 
or  subservient.  And  this  has  obtain'd  on  the  English  stage,  to 
give  us  the  pleasure  of  variety."^ 

Thus  we  see  that  Dryden  has  now  definitely  abandoned  his 
defense  of  tragi-comedy  by  arguments  based  on  general  critical 
principles. 

Yet,  such  is  the  poet's  subservience  to  public  taste,  such  his 
apparent  inconsistency,  that  his  very  next  play.  The  Spanish  Friar, 
acted  late  in  1680  or  early  in  1681,  and  published  in  the  latter  year, 
is  a  most  patent  tragi-comedy.     He  admits  this  in  his  dedication 

1.  Ss.  vi.  133.  134. 

2.  Lundbeck  comments  well  on  Drydon's  altered  choice  of  subjects :  "While 
the  sources  of  the  heroic  plays  were  found  directly  or  indirectly  in  the  French 
romances,  with  their  code  of  love  and  honor,  the  later  tragedies  have  a  different 
origin.  They  point  back  to  Shakspere,  to  Sophocles,  or,  as  Cleomenes  (1692),  to 
that  old  poldmine  of  the  English  drama,  Plutarch's  Lives"  (Op.  cit.  p.  192). 

3.  Lundbeck,  op.  cit.  p.  118 ;  H.  Morley,  First  Sketch  of  English  Literature, 
p.  700. 

4.  See  above,  p.  xxil. 
5-     Ss.  vl.  260,  261. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  li 

of  the  play,  and  prides  himself  on  the  skill  with  which 
he  has  combined  the  two  plots.  Yet  he  rather  apologizes 
for  tragi-comedy  than  supports  it  by  serious  arguments, 
"This  time  I  satisfied  my  own  humor,"  Dryden  tells  us,  '"which 
was  to  tack  two  plays  together ;  and  to  break  a  rule  for  the  pleasure 
of  variety.  The  truth  is,  the  audience  are  grown  weary  of  con- 
tinued melancholy  scenes :  and  I  dare  venture  to  prnpliesy  that  few 
tragedies,  except  those  in  verse  [i.  e.  heroic  plays],  shall  succeed 
in  this  age,  if  they  are  not  lighten'd  with  a  course  of  mirth;  for  the 
feast  is  too  dull  and  solemn  without  the  fiddles."^ 

Despite  the  fact  that  his  last  play,  Love  Triumphant  (1693), 
is  again  a  tragi-comcdy,  which  he  defends  in  a  similar  apologetic 
fashion,  as  a  concession  to  public  taste,^  Dryden's  mature  critical 
opinion  is  always  averse  to  that  type.  Thus  in  the  preface  to 
Cleomenes  (1692),  he  writes:  "After  all,  it  was  a  bold  attempt  of 
mine,  to  write  upon  a  single  plot,  unmix'd  with  comedy;  which, 
tho'  it  be  the  natural  and  true  way,  yet  is  not  to  the  genius  of  the 
nation."^  And  in  his  Parallel  of  Poetry  and  Painting  (1695)  he 
inserts  a  yet  more  significant  passage : 

"The  Gothic  manner,  and  the  barbarous  ornaments,  which  are 
to  be  avoided  in  a  picture,  are  Just  the  same  with  those  in  an  ill- 
ordcr'd  play.  For  example,  our  English  tragi-comedy  must  be 
confcss'd  to' be  wholly  Gothic,  notwithstanding  the  success  which  it 
has  found  upon  our  theater.  .  .  .  Xeither  can  I  defend  my 
Spanish  Friar,  as  fond  as  otherwise  I  am  of  it,  from  this  imputa- 
tion :  for  tho'  the  comical  parts  are  diverting,  and  the  serious  mov- 
ing, yet  they  are  of  an  unnatural  mingle:  for  mirth  and  gravity 
destroy  each  other,  and  are  no  more  to  be  allow'd  for  decent,  than  a 
gay  widow  laughing  in  a  mourning  habit."* 

Dryden's  final  dislike  of  tragi-comedy  is  sound,  so  far  as  his 
own  practice  in  that  type  is  concerned.  In  The  Spanish  Friar, 
even  more  than  in  Marriage  a  la  Mode,^  most  readers  will  feel  and 
resent  the  absence  of  that  harmonious  tone  that  distinguishes  The 
Conquest  of  Granada  or  All  for  Love,  or,  in  a  different  way,  any 


1.  Dedication  of  The  S:paiiif<h  Friar,  p.  310,  11.  1-7.  The  passage  shows 
that  heroic  plays  still  found  favor  with  the  English  public. 

2.  "For  my  action.  It  is  eviileutly  douhlo;  and  in  that  I  have  the  most  of 
the  ancients  for  mv  examples.  Yet  I  dare  not  defend  this  way  by  reason,  much 
less  bv  their  authority:  for  their  actions,  tho'  double,  were  of  the  same  species: 
that  Is  to  sav,  in  tlieir  comedies,  two  amours:  and  their  persons  were  better 
linkd  In  interest  than  mine.  Yet  even  this  is  a  fault  which  I  should  olten 
practice,  if  I  were  to  write  again,  because  it  is  agreeable  to  the  English  genius. 
We  love  variety  more  than  anv  other  nat'on  :  and  so  long  as  the  audience  will 
not  be  pieas'd  without  it.  the  poet  is  obilg'd  to  humor  them."  (Dedication  of 
Love  Triumphant.  Ss.  viii.  37.5,  376.) 

3.  Ss.  viii.  220. 

4.  Ss.  xvli.   327  ;  compare  p.  xlvii,  above. 

5.  See  pp.  xxxiii-xxxv. 


lii  INTRODUCTION 

one  of  Shakspere's  tragedies  or  comedies.  Why  is  it  that  the  suc- 
cession of  scenes  in  one  key  causes  no  monotony  in  All  for 
Love?  Why  is  it,  that  while  we  are  offended  by  the 
contrast  between  Lorenzo's  ribaldry  and  the  serious  plot  of 
The  Spanish  Friar,  we  feel  no  dissonance  in  the  grave-diggers' 
mirth  in  Hamlet?  The  explanation  is  to  be  found  in  the  strained, 
unnatural  character  of  Restoration  tragedy.  The  tone  of  the  tragic 
scenes  in  Dryden  is  not  merely  pitched  in  a  key  higher  than  that 
of  life,  as  is  the  case  with  all  tragedy;  it  is  elevated  into  a  falsetto, 
which  is  instantly  forced  on  our  notice,  and  which  cannot  be  made 
to  harmonize  with  the  rude  boisterousness  of  the  comedy  of  humors 
or  with  the  flippant  wit  of  the  comedy  of  manners.  In  T/ie  Mer- 
chant of  Venice,  tragedy  and  comedy  succeed  each  other  without 
jarring  on  our  feelings;  the  two  are  blended  in  an  atmosphere  of 
gracious  poetry  that  hides  from  us  any  dramatic  conventions 
that  might  challenge  belief.  But  in  Dryden's  tragi-comedies, 
when,  after  some  effort,  we  have  come  to  sympathize  with  the 
affectations  of  Melantha  or  the  w^aggish  wickedness  of  Lorenzo, 
we  refuse  to  be  transported  in  the  next  scene  to  the  heights  of 
equally  artificial  heroism.  Dryden  could  attain  excellence  only  by 
a  consistency  of  tone  and  by  a  clear  distinction  of  dramatic  types, 
such  as  prevailed  in  France.  This  he  secured  in  one  form  in  The 
Conquest  of  Granada,  in  another  and  higher  form  in  All  for  Love. 
By  writing  All  for  Love,  Dryden  showed  that  he  had  at  last  gained 
clearness  of  sight  in  regard  to  his  own  dramatic  work;  yet,  through 
weakness  of  the  flesh,  and  through  desire  for  immediate  popularity, 
he  was  too  often  unfaithful  to  his  new-found  wisdom.  He  rejected 
tragi-comedy,  despite  his  encomium  on  it  in  An  Essay  of  Dramatic 
Poesy,  owing  to  an  advance  in  critical  discernment ;  he  returned  to 
it  owing  to  his  shifty,  genial  temperament,  and  to  his  willingness 
to  gratify  public  taste  even  when  he  knew  it  to  be  false. 

Among  Dryden's  tragi-comedies  The  Spanish  Friar  holds  a 
very  high  position.  The  character  of  Friar  Dominic,  from  whom 
the  play  derives  its  title,  unoriginal  and  debased  as  it  is,  has  real 
humor;  and  many  scenes,  such  as  that  in  the  court  room,  where 
Lorenzo  threatens  Gomez,  are  lively  and  amusing.  These  merits, 
and  the  skilful  construction  of  the  plot,  go  far  to  atone  for  the 
repulsiveness  of  the  siibject. 

With  this  sucessful  play  Dryden  bade  a  long  farewell  to  regu- 
lar work  for  the  stage.  In  1681,  by  the  production  of  Absalom 
and  Achitophel,  he  suddenly  became  famous  as  the  foremost  Eng- 
lish satirist.  And  in  1680,  by  two  contributions  to  a  small  volume 
of  Ovid's  Epistles,  he  had  begun  his  work  as  a  translator,  on  which 
he  was  to  rely  during  the  closing  years  of  his  life.  Only  in  1690, 
after  the  Eevolution,  under  the  pressure  of  poverty  and  neglect, 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  liii 

did  he  turn  again  to  the  theater  for  support.^  His  later  plays 
brought  him  some  profit,  and  some  increase  in  reputation,  but  they 
did  not  reestablish  liis  fame  as  ttie  leading  English  dramatist.  On 
the  failure  of  the  tragi-eomedy  Love  Triumphant  (1693)  he  again 
abandoned  the  stage,  this  time  forever. 

No  detailed  criticism  of  Uryden's  latest  dramas  is  needed  here. 
In  general,  though  they  contain  work  by  no  means  inferior  to  that 
of  his  earlier  periods,  they  show  no  advance  in  critical  theory  or 
in  dramatic  technique.  In  them  the  poet  merely  used  again 
methods  the  value  of  which  he  had  learned  by  his  previous,  ex- 
perience. 

IV. 

The  four  plays  included  in  this  volume  thus  give  a  fairly 
complete  idea  of  Dryden's  dramatic  work.  They  show  the  versa- 
tility of  a  great  writer  who  is  now  known  chiefly  for  his  political 
satires,  his  translations,  his  critical  essays,  and  one  or  two  famous 
odes,  but  who  was  also,  in  his  own  time,  a  leader  among  English 
dramatists.  Our  long  discussion  may  lead  to  some  general 
conclusions. 

In  the  first  requisite  of  a  great  dramatist  as  distinguished  from 
a  successful  playwright,  the  ability  to  create  living  men  and  women, 
Dryden  was  fatally  deficient.  He  can  describe  character  mar- 
velously;  no  writer  ever  drew  more  brilliant  satiric  portraits 
than  those  of  Shaftesbury  and  Buckingham  in  Absalom  and 
Acliitophel.  But  he  cannot  do  his  work  from  the  inside,  entering 
into  another  man's  life  as  if  it  were  his  own;  genial  and  kindly 
as  he  was,  he  lacked  sympathy.  With  his  keenl}  literary  tempera- 
ment, he  was  more  interested  in  books  than  in  life  itself;  when 
he  wrote  plays,  he  depended  for  inspiration  rather  on  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  dramatists,  poets,  and  romance-writers  of  Eng- 
land and  France  than  on  his  independent  observation  of  the  world 
about  him.-  Hence  his  characters,  even  in  his  best  work,  are  always 
variations  on  certain  well-known  types;  their  creator  manipulates 
them  skilfully,  but  does  not  succeed  in  inspiring  them  with  the 
breath  of  life.  Melantha  is  an  affected  town  lady;  Friar  Dominic, 
a  greedy,  sensual  ecclesiastic;  Ventidius,  a  bluff  soldier:  no  one  of 

1.  In  1082  Dryden  joined  Lee  In  writing  The  Duke  of  Ouisc,  a  political 
play.  In  10.S4  and  1(!S5  lie  produced  two  political  operas.  Albion  and  Allxmiua 
and  Kin;i  Arthur,  the  former  of  wliicli  was  acted  and  publislied  in  1683,  tlie 
latter,  iii  a  revised  form,  in  1G91.  In  1G90  lie  returned  to  regular  theatrical 
work   with  Don  Sebastian. 

2.  What  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  has  recently  written  of  a  modern  poet  Is  curi- 
ously applicable  to  Dryden  : 

"Mr.  Swinburne's  passion  was  never  natural  and  sincere;  it  was  always 
declamatory  and  literary.  This  is  tlie  defect  of  his  poetry;  tlie  emotions  have 
a  literary  origin,  and  every  character  is  eciiially  copious,  vigorous,  and  uncon- 
vincing. In  the  dramas  it  is  the  verbal  music  and  the  rhetoric  that  please  us; 
Mary  fStuart  and  Mary  Heaton  certainly  did  not  express  themselves  in  Mr.  Swin- 
burne's way."     (The  ^ation,  Ixxxviii.  507;  May  20,    1909). 


liv  INTEODUCTION 

them  is  a  person  with  whom  we  feel  the  same  intimate  personal 
acquaintance  that  we  do  with  Beatrice  or  Falstaff  or  Hotspur.^ 
We  read  about  his  characters,  we  do  not  feel  with  them. 

For  this  reason,  there  is  no  true  conflict  between  opposing 
emotions  in  Dryden's  dramas;  as  his  puppets  are  in  the  beginning, 
so  tliey  remain  until  the  end.-  A  half-dozen  pages  of  prosaic, 
commonplace  talk  in  Ibsen  give  us  a  picture  of  an  individual  man 
or  woman,  torn  by  a  dozen  different  feelings.  Nora  at  the  close  of 
A  Doll's  House  is  a  different  woman  from  what  she  was  at  the 
opening  of  the  play.  Her  talk  is  often  silly  and  puerile ;  yd  in 
her,  as  a  living  woman,  we  are  intensely  interested.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  hundred  pages  of  Dryden  furnish  mere  variations  on  a 
few  stock  themes;  sexual  passion,  jealousy,  ambition,  as  the  case 
may  be.  Antony  and  Cleopatra  express  themselves  differently  in 
different  scenes,  but  their  natures  never  vary;  each  speech  tells  the 
same  story  in  different  words.  What  they  say  is  eloquent  and 
beautiful,  but  we  are  interested  in  the  phrases,  not  in  the  person 
who  utters  them. 

On  the  other  hand,  once  we  are  content  to  forego  this  highest 
quality  of  a  great  dramatist,  the  ability  to  create  living  men  and 
women,  Dryclen's  dramas  have  great  merits.  The  interest  rarely 
flags ;  Dryden  knows  how  to  tell  a  story.  As  Marriage  a  la  Mode 
and  The  Spanish  Friar  amply  illustrate,  he  is  far  superior  to  Con- 
greve  in  his  handling  of  plot,  inferior  though  he  may  be  in  finished 
drawing  of  character  and  in  brilliancy  of  dialogue.  And  Tlie 
Conquest  of  Granada,  if  we  can  once  accustom  ourselves  to  its 
gaudy  diction,  has  the  charm  of  rapid  narrative  that  makes  Mar- 
mion  dear  to  every  one  who  has  not  lost  his  boyish  love  of  ad- 
venture. Sir  Walter  Scott's  judgment  on  this  play  is  of  special 
interest : 

"If  .  .  .  the  reader  can  abstract  his  mind  from  the  qualities 
now  deemed  essential  to  a  play,  and  consider  The  Conquest  of 
Granada  as  a  piece  of  romantic  poetry,  there  are  few  compositions 
in  the  English  language  which  convey  a  more  lively  and  favorable 
display  of  the  magnificence  of  fable,  of  language,  and  of  action, 
proper  to  that  style  of  composition.     Amid  the  splendid  ornaments 


1.  The  following  sneer  by  Dryden'e  enemy,  Martin  Clifford,  has  some  founda- 
tion in  fact : 

"But  I  am  strangely  mistaken  if  I  have  not  seen  this  very  Almanzor  of 
yours  in  some  disguise  alout  this  town,  and  passing  under  another  name. 
Prethee  tell  me  true,  was  not  this  huff-cap  once  the  Indian  Emperor,  and  at 
another  time  did  not  he  call  himself  Maximin?  Was  not  Lyndarasa  once  called 
Almeria,  I  mean  under  Montezuma  the  Indian  Emperor?  I  protest  and  vow 
they  are  (hither  the  same,  or  so  alike,  that  I  can't  for  my  heart  distinguish  one 
from  the  other.  You  are  therefore  i  stranare  unconscionable  thief,  that  art  not 
content  to  steal  from  others,  but  dost  rob  thy  poor  wretched  self,  too."  CSotee 
upon  Mr.  Dryden's  Poems,  in  Four  Letters.     London,  1687,  p.  7.) 

2.  For  an  insignificant  exception,  see  pp.  xxix,  xxx. 


DRYDEN  AS  DRAMATIST  Iv 

of  the  structure  we  lose  sight  of  occasional  disproportion  and  in- 
congruity; and,  at  an  early  age  particularly,  there  are  few  poems 
which  make  a  more  deep  impression  on  the  imagination  than  The 
Conquest  of  Granada."^ 

Both  in  comedy  and  in  tragedy,  Dryden  is  an  imitator  and  an 
adapter,  but  he  is  an  imitator  and  an  adapter  of  a  most  genial 
and  versatile  sort.  Though  he  yields  in  comic  force  to  Wych- 
erley  and  to  Congreve,  probably  even  to  Etherege  and  to 
Shadwell,  he  is  wider  in  his  range  than  any  of  these  men.  In 
his  first  play.  The  M^ild  Gallant,  he  experimented  with  Jonson's 
comedy  of  humors,  and,  though  he  did  little  further  work  of  the 
same  sort,  his  portrait  of  the  brutal  and  hypocritical  Dominic  in 
The  Spanish  Friar  shows  the  influence  of  Jonson's  cynicism.  His 
second  drama,  Tlie  Rival  Ladies,  is  somewhat  akin  to  the  romantic 
comedies  of  Shakspere  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and  his  re- 
peated tragi-comedies  continue  the  Elizabethan  tradition.  Yet  in 
the  comic  scenes  of  these  same  tragi-comedies  he  frequently  blends 
comedy  of  intrigue  with  comedy  of  manners,  the  most  typical  form 
of  the'  drama  of  the  later  Restoration  period.  The  best  scenes  of 
Marriage  a  la  Mode  point  forward  to  the  work  of  Congreve ;  :\Ielan- 
tha  is  a  predecessor  of  Millamant  in  The  Way  of  the  ]Yorld. 

Of  tragedy  Dryden  may  be  regarded  as  the  greatest  writer  dur- 
ing the  Eestoration  period.  Though  still  an  imitator,  he  was  here 
working  in  a  field  far  more  congenial  to  his  own  talents,  and  by 
the  genuine  merits  of  his  productions  he  exercised  a  strong  influ- 
ence on  the  future  of  tragedy  in  England.  He  first  developed  to 
such  perfection  as  it  was  capable  of  attaining,  a  new  species  of 
drama,  the  melodramatic  heroic  plays.  He  later  succeeded  in  unit- 
ing French  technique  with  the  English  dramatic  tradition,  and 
thus  gave  powerful  aid  in  starting  English  tragedy  in  the  direc- 
tion that  it  was  destined  to  follow  for  almost  a  century  afterhis 
death,  though  it  never  again  attained  the  height  to  which  he  raised 
it  in  his  All  for  Love.  To  his  achievements  in  both  these  types  of 
tragedy  he  gave  distinction  by  his  supreme  command  of  English 
verse.  Alwavs  buoyant,  varied,  melodious,  and  vigorous,  Dryden's 
style  progresses  from  bombast  in  his  earlier  work  to  sustained 
dignity  in  his  later.  Those  who  do  not  know  The  Conquest  of 
Granada  and  All  for  Love  cannot  fully  understand  the  spell  that 
Dryden's  name  cast  over  the  century  that  followed  hmi. 

1.     Ss.  iv.  6. 


CHKONOLOGICAL    LIST    OF    DEYDEN'S    DRAMATIC    WORKS 


(The  titles  of  some  of  the  poet's  more  important  non-dramatic  works 
are  added,  in  brackets,  for  purposes  of  comparison.) 

Date 
of 
acting. 

The  Wild  Gallant 1663 

The  Rival  Ladies 1663? 

The  Indian  Queen  (with  Howard) 1664 

The   Indian    Emperor 1664? 

[Annus  jNIirabiiis]   

Secret  Love;  or,  The  Maiden  Queen 1667 

Sir  Martin  Mar-All    (with  the  Duke  of  Newcastle; 

adapted   from   Moliere) 1667 

The  Tempest   (with  Davenant;  adapted  from  Shak- 

spere)     1667 

[An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy] 

An    Evening 's    Love 1668 

Tyrannic  Love   1669 

The  Conquest  of  Granada 1670? 

Marriage   a  la   Mode 1672 

The   Assignation    1672  ? 

Amboyna   1672 

The  State  of  Innocence  (written  in  1674?) 

Aureng-Zebe    1675 

All   for   Love 1677 

The  Kind  Keeper;  or,  Mr.  Limberham 1678 

(Edipus    (with   Lee) 1678 

Troilus  and  Cressida   (adapted   from  Shakspere) .  .  1678 

[Translations  from  Ovid  's  Epistles] 

The  Spanish  Friar    1680? 

[Absalom  and  Achitophel] 

[The   Medal]    

[Mac  Flecknoe]    

The  Duke  of  Guise   (with  Lee) 1682 

[Religio   Laiei]    

Albion   and  Albanius 1685 

[The  Hind  and  the  Panther] 

Don  Sebastian   1689 

Amphitryon 1690 

King  Arthur 1691 

Cleomenes    1692 

[Translations  from  Juvenal  and  Persius] 

Love   Triumphant    1693? 

[Translation  of  Virgil] 

[Fables]     

Ivi 


Date 
of  first 

edition. 
1669 
1664 
1665 
1667 
1667 
1668 

1668 

1670 

1668 

1671 

1670 

1672 

1673 

1673 

1673 

1677? 

1676 

1678 

1679 

1679 

1679 

1680 

1681 

1681 

1682 

1682 

1683 

1682 

1685 

1687 

1690 

1690 

1691 

1692 

1692 

1694 

1697 

1700 


THE 

CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

BY  THE 

SPANIARDS 
PART  I 

Major  rerum  mihi  nascitur  ordo; 

Majus  opus  moveo. 

Virgil,  Mneid,  vii.  44,  45. 


The  Conquest  of  Granada  was  first  printed  in  1672 ;  other  quarto 
editions  followed  in  1673,  1678,  1687,  and  1695.  These  are  cited  as 
Ql,  Q2,  Q3,  Q4,  Q5.  In  general,  Q2  was  printed  from  Ql,  Q3  from  Q2 
(see  p.  60,  1.  67;  p.  124,  1.  39),  Q4  from  Ql  (see  p.  70,  1.  22),  Q5  from 
Q4  (see  p.  11,  1.  6;  p.  45,  1,  44);  and  the  Folio  of  1701  (F)  from  Q5 
(sec  p.  44,  1.  508;  p.  131,  1.  49).  Some  changes  of  text,  however,  would 
seem  to  indicate  a  different  arrangement :  see  p.  58,  1.  68 ;  p.  67,  11.  269, 
270;  p.  76,  1.  145;  p.  99,  1.  68.  Of  these  changes,  only  those  on  p.  60. 
1.  67,  and  p.  67,  11.  269,  270  are  certainly  due  to  Dryden.  The  present 
edition  follows  Ql  except  when  there  are  obvious  reasons  for  departing 
from  its  text.  Some  pages  were  lacking  in  the  Harvard  copy  of  Q2, 
used  by  the  editor,  so  that  the  citation  of  its  readings  is  incomplete; 
see  pp.  10,  11,  137. 


TO 

HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS 

THE 

DUKE 

Sir, 
Heroic  poesy  has  always  been  sacred  to  princes,  and  to  heroes.  Thus 
Virgil  inserib'd  his  JEneids  to  Augustus  Caesar;  and,  of  latter  ages, 
Tasso  and  Ariosto  dedicated  their  poems  to  the  house  of  Este.  'Tis, 
indeed,  but  justice  that  the  most  excellent  and  most  profitable  kind  of 
writing  should  be  address'd  by  poets  to  such  persons  whose  characters 
have,  for  the  most  part,  been  the  guides  and  patterns  of  their  imitation. 
And  poets,  while  they  imitate,  instruct.  The  feign'd  hero  inflames  the 
true,   and   the   dead   virtue  animates   the   living.      Since,   therefore,   the 

10  world  is  govern'd  by  precept  and  example,  and  both  these  can  only  have 
influence  from  those  persons  who  are  above  us;  that  kind  of  poesy  which 
excites  to  virtue  the  greatest  men  is  of  greatest  use  to  humankind. 

'Tis  from  this  consideration  that  I  have  presum  'd  to  dedicate  to  your 
Royal  Highness  these  faint  representations  of  your  own  worth  and  valor 
in  heroic  poetry;  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  not  to  dedicate,  but  to 
restore  to  you  those  ideas  which,  in  the  more  perfect  part  of  my  charac- 
ters, I  have  taken  from  you.  Heroes  may  lawfully  be  delighted  with 
their  own  praises,  both  as  they  are  farther  incitements  to  their  virtue, 
and  as  they   are  the  highest   returns   which   mankind   can   make   them 

20  for  it. 

And  certainly,  if  ever  nation  were  oblig'd  either  by  the  conduct,  the 
personal  valor,  or  the  good  fortune  of  a  leader,  the  English  are  acknowl- 
edging, in  all  of  them,  to  your  Royal  Highness.  Your  whole  life  has 
been  a  continued  series  of  heroic  actions;  which  you  began  so  early,  that 
you  were  no  sooner  nam'd  in  the  world,  but  it  was  with  praise  and  ad- 
miration. Even  the  first  blossoms  of  your  youth  paid  us  all  that  could 
be  expected  from  a  ripening  manhood.  "While  you  practic'd  but  the  rudi- 
ments of  war,  you  outwent  all  other  captains;  and  have  since  found 
none  to  surpass,  but  yourself  alone.     The  opening  of  your  glory  was 

30  like  that  of  light:  you  shone  to  us  from  afar;  and  disclos'd  your  first 
beams  on  distant  nations;  yet  so,  that  the  luster  of  them  was  spread 

4.        Estr]  Dryden's  spelling  is  Est. 
lil.        of  greatest]   QqF.     of  the  greatest  SsM. 

3 


4  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

abroad,  and  reflected  brightly  on  your  native  country.  You  were  then 
an  honor  to  it,  when  it  was  a  reproach  to  itself;  and,  when  the  fortunate 
usurper  sent  his  arms  to  Flanders,  many  of  the  adverse  party  were 
vanquish'd  by  your  fame,  ere  they  tried  your  valor.  The  report  of  it 
drew  over  to  your  ensigns  whole  troops  and  companies  of  converted 
rebels,  and  made  them  forsake  successful  wickedness,  to  follow  an  op- 
press'd  and  exil'd  virtue.  Your  reputation  wag'd  war  with  the  enemies 
of  your  royal  family,  even  within  their  trenches;  and  the  more  obstinate, 
or  more  guilty  of  them,  were  forc'd  to  be  spies  over  those  whom  they 

10  commanded,  lest  the  name  of  York  should  disband  that  army,  in  whose 
fate  it  was  to  defeat  the  Spaniards  and  force  Dunkirk  to  surrender. 
Yet  those  victorious  forces  of  the  rebels  were  not  able  to  sustain  your 
arms.  Where  you  charg'd  in  person,  you  were  a  conqueror.  'Tis  true, 
they  afterwards  recover 'd  courage,  and  wrested  that  victory  from  others 
which  they  had  lost  to  you;  and  it  was  a  greater  action  for  them  to 
rally  than  it  was  to  overcome.  Thus,  by  the  presence  of  your  Eoyal 
Highness,  the  English  on  both  sides  remain'd  victorious;  and  that  army 
which  was  broken  by  your  valor  became  a  terror  to  those  for  whom  they 
conquer'd.     Then  it  was  that  at  the  cost  of  other  nations  you  inform'd 

20  and  cultivated  that  valor  which  was  to  defend  your  native  country,  and 
to  vindicate  its  honor  from  the  insolence  of  our  incroaching  neighbors. 
When  the  Hollanders,  not  contented  to  withdraw  themselves  from  the 
obedience  which  they  ow'd  their  lawful  sovereign,  affronted  those  by 
whose  charity  they  were  first  protected;  and  (being  swell'd  up  to  a  pre- 
eminence of  trade,  by  a  supine  negligence  on  our  side,  and  a  sordid 
parsimony  on  their  own)  dar'd  to  dispute  the  sovereignty  of  the  seas, 
the  eyes  of  three  nations  were  then  cast  on  you ;  and,  by  the  joint  suffrage 
of  king  and  people,  you  were  chosen  to  revenge  their  common  injuries; 
to  which,  tho'  you  had  an  undoubted  title  by  your  birth,  you  had  yet  a 

30  greater  by  your  courage.  Neither  did  the  success  deceive  our  hopes  and 
expectations.  The  most  glorious  victory  which  was  gain'd  by  our  navy 
in  that  war  was  in  that  first  engagement;  wherein,  even  by  the  confes- 
eion  of  our  enemies,  who  ever  palliate  their  own  losses,  and  diminish 
our  advantages,  your  absolute  triumph  was  acknowledg'd.  You  con- 
quer'd at  the  Hague  as  intirely  as  at  London;  and  the  return  of  a  shat- 
ter'd  fleet,  without  an  admiral,  left  not  the  most  impudent  among  them 
the  least  pretense  for  a  false  bonfire,  or  a  dissembled  day  of  public 
thanksgiving.  All  our  achievements  against  them  afterwards,  tho'  we 
sometimes  conquer'd,  and  were  never  overcome,  were  but  a  copy  of  that 

40  victory;  and  they  still  fell  short  of  their  original:  somewhat  of  fortune 
was  ever  wanting,  to  fill  up  the  title  of  so  absolute  a  defeat.  Or,  per- 
haps the  guardian  angel  of  our  nation  was  not  enough  concem'd  when 
you  were  absent,  and  would  not  employ  his  utmost  vigor  for  a  less  im- 
portant stake  than  the  life  and  honor  of  a  royal  admiral. 

And  if,  since  that  memorable  day,  you  have  had  leisure  to  enjoy  in 
peace  the  fruits  of  so  glorious  a  reputation,    'twas  occasion  only  has 

2.  itself ;  and,  irhen]  QqF,  with  colon,  not  semicolon,     itself.  When  SsM 

27.  on]   QqF.      upnii   SsM. 

20.  had  yet  a]   Q1Q2Q.SQ4.     had  a  Q5F  SsM. 

45.  And  if,  since]   Q1Q2Q3Q4.     Q5F  omit  if. 


DEDICATION  6 

been  wanting  to  your  courage,  for  that  can  never  be  wanting  to  occa- 
sion. The  same  ardor  still  incites  you  to  heroic  actions,  and  the  same 
concernment  for  all  the  interests  of  your  king  and  brother  continue  to 
give  you  restless  nights,  and  a  generous  emulation  for  your  own  glory. 
You  are  still  meditating  on  new  labors  for  yourself,  and  new  triumphs 
for  the  nation;  and  when  our  former  enemies  again  provoke  us,  you  will 
again  solicit  fate  to  provide  you  another  navy  to  overcome,  and  another 
admiral  to  be  slain.  You  will  then  lead  forth  a  nation  eager  to  revenge 
their  past  injuries;  and,  like  the  Komans,  inexorable  to  peace,  till  they 

10  have  fully  vanquish'd.  Let  our  enemies  make  their  boast  of  a  surprise, 
as  the  Samnites  did  of  a  successful  stratagem;  but  the  Furcce  Caudince 
will  never  be  forgiv'n  till  they  are  reveng'd.  I  have  always  observ'd  in 
your  Royal  Highness  an  extreme  concernment  for  the  honor  of  your  coun- 
try; 'tis  a  passion  common  to  you  with  a  brother,  the  most  excellent 
of  kings;  and  in  your  two  persons  are  eminent  the  characters  which 
Homer  has  given  us  of  heroic  virtue;  the  commanding  part  in  Agamem- 
non, and  the  executive  in  Achilles.  And  I  doubt  not,  from  both  your 
actions,  but  to  have  abundant  matter  to  fill  the  annals  of  a  glorious 
reign,  and  to  perform  the  part  of  a  just  historian  to  my  royal  master, 

20  without  intermixing  with  it  anything  of  the  poet. 

In  the  meantime,  while  your  Royal  Highness  is  preparing  fresh  em- 
ployments for  our  pens,  I  have  been  examining  my  own  forces,  and 
making  trial  of  myself,  how  I  shall  be  able  to  transmit  you  to  pos- 
terity. I  have  form'd  a  hero,  I  confess,  not  absolutely  perfect,  but  of 
an  excessive  and  over-boiling  courage;  but  Homer  and  Tasso  are  my 
precedents.  Both  the  Greek  and  the  Italian  poet  had  well  consider'd 
that  a  tame  hero,  who  never  transgresses  the  bounds  of  moral  virtue, 
would  shine  but  dimly  in  an  epic  poem.  The  strictness  of  those  rules 
might  well  give  precepts  to  the  reader,  but  would  administer  little  of 

30  occasion  to  the  writer.  But  a  character  of  an  eccentric  virtue  is  the 
more  exact  image  of  human  life,  because  he  is  not  wholly  exempted  from 
its  frailties.  Such  a  person  is  Almanzor,  whom  I  present,  with  all  hu- 
mility, to  the  patronage  of  your  Royal  Highness.  I  design'd  in  him  a 
roughness  of  character,  impatient  of  injuries;  and  a  confidence  of  him- 
self, almost  approaching  to  an  arrogance.  But  these  errors  are  incident 
only  to  great  spirits;  they  are  moles  and  dimples,  which  hinder  not  a 
face  from  being  beautiful,  tho'  that  beauty  be  not  regular;  they  arc 
of  the  number  of  those  amiable  imperfections  which  we  see  in  mis- 
tresses, and  which  we  pass  over  without  a  strict  examination,  when  they 

40  are  accompanied  with  greater  graces.  And  such,  in  Almanzor,  are  a 
frank  and  noble  openness  of  nature,  an  easiness  to  forgive  his  con- 
quer'd  enemies,  and  to  protect  them  in  distress;  and,  above  all,  an  in- 
violable faith  in  his  affection. 

This,  sir,  I  have  briefly  shadow'd  to  your  Royal  Highness,  that  you 
may    not    be    asham'd    of    that    hero    whose    protection    you    undertake. 

3.  continue]  QqF.  continiicn  SsM.  The  confusion  in  grauiuiar  is  prob- 
ably due  to  Drvden  himself. 

31.        he  in  not]   Q.iQiQ'^F.     he  not  Q1Q2. 

41.       an  casines8]  (Jl(j2Q.'iQ4.     and  easiness  Q5F. 

44.        This,  etc.]  No  H  in  Q2g3Q4. 


6  THE  CONQUEST  OP  GRANADA 

Neither  would  I  dedicate  him  to  so  illustrious  a  name,  if  I  were  con- 
scious to  myself  that  he  did  or  said  anything  which  was  wholly  unworthy 
of  it.  However,  since  it  is  not  just  that  your  Royal  Highness  should 
defend  or  own  what,  possibly,  may  be  my  error,  I  bring  before  you  this 
accus'd  Almanzor  in  the  nature  of  a  suspected  criminal.  By  the  suffrage 
of  the  most  and  best  he  already  is  acquitted;  and,  by  the  sentence  of 
some,  condemn'd.  But,  as  I  have  no  reason  to  stand  to  the  award  of  my 
enemies,  so  neither  dare  I  trust  the  partiality  of  my  friends.  I  make 
my   last   appeal   to   your   Royal   Highness,   as   to   a   sovereign   tribunal. 

10  Heroes  should  only  be  judg'd  by  heroes,  because  they  only  are  capable 
of  measuring  great  and  heroic  actions  by  the  rule  and  standard  of 
their  own.  If  Almanzor  has  fail'd  in  any  point  of  honor,  I  must 
therein  acknowledge  that  he  deviates  from  your  Royal  Highness,  who 
are  the  pattern  of  it.  But  if  at  any  time  he  fulfils  the  parts  of  per- 
sonal valor  and  of  conduct,  of  a  soldier,  and  of  a  general;  or  if  I  could 
yet  give  him  a  character  more  advantageous  than  what  he  has,  of  the 
most  unshaken  friend,  the  greatest  of  subjects,  and  the  best  of  masters, 
I  should  then  draw  to  all  the  world  a  true  resemblance  of  your  worth 
and  \'irtues;  at  least,  as  far  as  they  are  capable  of  being  copied  by  the 
mean  abilities  of, 

^°  Sib, 

Your  Royal  Highness's 

Most  humble  and  most 

Obedient  servant, 

J.  Dryden. 


6.       already  is]  Qq.     is  already  F. 
18.       draw  to  all]  Ql.     draw  all  Q2Q3Q4Q5F. 


OF 

HEROIC  PLAYS 

AN  ESSAY 

Whether  heroic  verse  ought  to  be  admitted  into  serious  plays,  is 
not  now  to  be  disputed :  'tis  already  in  possession  of  the  stage,  and  1  dare 
confidently  affirm  that  very  few  tragedies,  in  this  age,  shall  be  receiv'd 
without  it.  All  the  arguments  which  are  form'd  against  it  can  amount 
to  no  more  than  this,  that  it  is  not  so  near  conversation  as  prose,  and 
therefore  not  so  natural.  But  it  is  very  clear  to  all  who  understand 
poetry  that  serious  plays  ought  not  to  imitate  conversation  too  nearly. 
If  nothing  were  to  be  rais'd  above  that  level,  the  foundation  of  poetry 
would  be  destroy'd.    And  if  you  once  admit  of  a  latitude,  that  thoughts 

10  may  be  exalted,  and  that  images  and  actions  may  be  rais'd  above  the 
life,  and  describ'd  in  measure  without  rime,  that  leads  you  insensibly 
from  your  own  principles  to  mine:  you  are  already  so  far  onward  of 
your  way,  that  you  have  forsaken  the  imitation  of  ordinary  converse. 
You  are  gone  beyond  it;  and  to  continue  where  you  are,  is  to  lodge  in 
the  open  fields,  betwixt  two  inns.  You  have  lost  that  which  you  call 
natural,  and  have  not  acquir'd  the  last  perfection  of  art.  But  it  was 
only  custom  which  cozen 'd  us  so  long;  we  thought,  because  Shakspere 
and  Fletcher  went  no  farther,  that  there  the  pillars  of  poetry  were  to 
be  erected;  that,  because  they  excellently  describ'd  passion  without  rime, 

20  therefore  rime  was  not  capable  of  describing  it.  But  time  has  now 
convinc'd  most  men  of  that  error.  'Tis,  indeed,  so  difficult  to  write 
verse,  that  the  adversaries  of  it  have  a  good  plea  against  many  who 
undertake  that  task  without  being  form'd  by  art  or  nature  for  it.  Yet, 
even  they  who  have  written  worst  in  it,  would  have  written  worse  with- 
out it:  they  have  cozen'd  many  with  their  sound,  who  never  took  the 
pains  to  examine  their  sense.  In  fine,  they  have  succeeded;  tho'  'tis 
true,  they  have  more  dishonor'd  rime  by  their  good  success  than  they 
could  have  done  by  their  ill.  But  I  am  willing  to  let  fall  this  argu- 
ment:   'tis  free  for  every  man  to  write,  or  not  to  write  in  verse,  as  he 

80  judges  it  to  be,  or  not  to  be,  his  talent;  or  as  he  imagines  the  audience 
will  receive  it. 

For  heroic  plays  (in  which  only  I  have  us'd  it  without  the  mixture 
of  prose),  the  first  light  we  had  of  them  on  the  English  theater  was 
from  the  late   Sir  William  Davenant.     It  being   forbidden   him   in   the 

2.*?.        undntnlr]    QqF.     undrrfonk  SsM. 

27.        they  could  haic]  Qig2y.'iy4-     ^ut^  SsMK  omit  could,  thereby  spoiling 
the  sense. 

32.       only  I  have]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     /  have  only  Q5F. 

7 


8  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GBANADA 

rebellious  times  to  act  tragedies  and  comedies,  because  they  contain'd 
some  matter  of  scandal  to  those  good  people,  who  could  more  easily 
dispossess  their  lawful  sovereign  than  endure  a  wanton  jest,  he  was 
forc'd  to  turn  his  thoughts  another  way,  and  to  introduce  the  examples 
of  moral  virtue,  writ  in  verse,  and  performed  in  recitative  music.  The 
original  of  this  music,  and  of  the  scenes  which  adorn'd  his  work,  he 
had  from  the  Italian  operas;  but  he  heightened  his  characters  (as  I  may 
probably  imagine)  from  the  example  of  Corneille  and  some  French 
poets.     In  this  condition  did  this  part  of  poetry  remain  at  his  Majesty's 

10  return;  when,  growing  bolder,  as  being  now  own'd  by  a  public  authority, 
he  review'd  his  Siege  of  Shades,  and  caus'd  it  to  be  acted  as  a  just 
drama.  But,  as  few  men  have  the  happiness  to  begin  and  finish  any 
new  project,  so  neither  did  he  live  to  make  his  design  perfect.  There 
vi-anted  the  fulness  of  a  plot  and  the  variety  of  characters  to  form  it 
as  it  ought;  and,  perhaps,  something  might  have  been  added  to  the 
beauty  of  the  style.  All  which  he  would  have  perform'd  with  more 
exactness,  had  he  pleas'd  to  have  given  us  another  work  of  the  same 
nature.  For  myself  and  others,  who  come  after  him,  we  are  bound,  with 
all  veneration   to   his   memory,   to   acknowledge   what  advantage  we   re- 

20  ceiv'd  from  that  excellent  groundwork  which  he  laid;  and,  since  it  is 
an  easy  thing  to  add  to  what  already  is  invented,  we  ought  all  of  us, 
without  envy  to  him,  or  partiality  to  ourselves,  to  yield  him  the  prece- 
dence in  it. 

Having  done  him  this  justice,  as  my  guide,  I  may  do  myself  so 
much  as  to  give  an  account  of  what  I  have  perform'd  after  him.  I 
observ'd  then,  as  I  said,  what  was  wanting  to  the  perfection  of  his 
Siege  of  Rhodes;  which  was  design,  and  variety  of  characters.  And 
in  the  midst  of  this  consideration,  by  mere  accident,  I  open'd  the  next 
book  that  lay  by  me,  which  was  an  Ariosto  in  Italian;  and  the  very  first 

30  two  lines  of  that  poem  gave  me  light  to  all  I  could  desire: 

Le  donne,  i  cavalier,  I'arme,  gli  amori, 
Le  cortesie,  I'audaci  iviprese  io  canto,  &c. 

For  the  very  next  reflection  which  I  made  was  this,  that  an  heroic  play 
ought  to  be  an  imitation,  in  little,  of  an  heroic  poem ;  and,  consequently, 
that  love  and  valor  ought  to  be  the  subject  of  it.  Both  these  Sir  William 
Davenant  had  begun  to  shadow;  but  it  was  so,  as  first  discoverers  draw 
their  maps,  with  headlands,  and  promontories,  and  some  few  outlines 
of  somewhat  taken  at  a  distance,  and  which  the  designer  saw  not 
clearly.  The  common  drama  oblig'd  him  to  a  plot  well  form'd  and 
40  pleasant,  or,  as  the  ancients  call 'd  it,  one  entire  and  great  action;  but 
this  he  afforded  not  himself  in  a  story  which  he  neither  fill'd  with 
persons,  nor  beautified  with  characters,  nor  varied  with  accidents.  The 
laws  of  an  heroic  poem  did  not  dispense  with  those  of  the  other,  but 
rais'd  them  to  a  greater  height,  and  indulg'd  him  a  farther  liberty  of 
fancy,  and  of  drawing  all  things  as  far  above  the  ordinary  proportion 

6.  Tiis  work]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     ihix  work  Q5F.  " 

11.  If  to  be]   QqF.     it  be  SsMK. 

32.  Vaudaci]  Q2Q.3Q4Q5F.     I'audace  Ql. 

40.  calVd]   QqF.     call  SsMK. 


ESSAY  OF  HEEOIC  PLAYS  9 

of  the  stage,  as  that  is  beyond  the  common  words  and  actions  of  human 
life;  and,  therefore,  in  tlie  scanting  of  his  images  and  design,  he  com- 
plied not  enough. with  the  greatness  and  majesty  of  an  heroic  poem. 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot  discover  my  opinion  of  this  kind  of  writing 
without  dissenting  much  from  his,  whose  memory  I  love  and  honor.  But 
I  will  do  it  with  the  same  respect  to  him  as  if  he  were  now  alive,  and 
overlooking  my  paper  while  I  write.  His  judgment  of  an  heroic  poem 
was  this:  that  it  ought  to  he  dress' d  in  a  more  familiar  and  easy  shape; 
more  fitted  to  the  common  actions  and  passions  of  human  life;  and,  in 

10  short,  more  like  a  glass  of  nature,  showing  us  ourselves  in  our  ordinary 
habits,  and  figuring  a  more  practicable  lirtuc  to  us,  then.-wds  done  by 
the  ancients  or  v^oderns.  Thus  he  takes  the  image  of  an  heroic  poem 
from  the  drama,  or  stage  poetry;  and  accordingly  intended  to  divide 
it  into  five  books,  representing  the  same  number  of  acts;  and  every 
book  into  several  cantos,  imitating  the  scenes  which  compose  our  acts. 

But  this.  I  think,  is  rather  a  play  in  narration  (as  I  may  call  it) 
than  an  heroic  poem,  if  at  least  you  will  not  prefer  tlie  opinion  of  a 
single  man  to  the  practice  of  the  most  excellent  authors,  both  of  ancient 
and  latter  ages.     1  am  no  admirer  of  quotations;  but  you  shall  hear,  if 

20  you  please,  one  of  the  ancients  delivering  his  judgment  on  this  question; 
'tis  Petronius  Arbiter,  the  most  elegant,  and  one  of  the  most  judicious 
authors  of  the  Latin  tongue;  who,  after  he  had  given  many  admirable 
rules  for  the  structure  and  beauties  of  an  epic  poem,  concludes  all  in 
these   following  words: 

No7i  enim  res  gestce  versibus  comprehendendce  sunt,  quod  longe 
melius  historici  faciunt:  sed,  per  ambages,  deorumque  ministeria, 
prcecipitandus  est  liber  spiritus,  ut  potius  furcntis  animi  vaticinatio 
apparcat,  quam  rcligiosve  orationis,  sub  testibus,  fides. 

In  which  sentence,  and  in  his  own  essay  of  a  poem,  which  imme- 
30  diately  he  gives  you,  it  is  thought  he  taxes  Lucan,  who  follow'd  too  much 
the  truth  of  history,  crowded  sentences  together,  was  too  full  of  points, 
and  too  often  offer'd  at  somewhat  which  had  more  of  the  sting  of  an 
epigram  than  of  the  dignity  and  state  of  an  heroic  poem.  Lucan  us'd 
not  much  the  help  of  his  heathen  deities:  there  was  neither  the  ministry 
of  the  gods,  nor  the  precipitation  of  the  soul,  nor  the  fury  of  a  prophet 
(of  which  my  author  speaks)  in  his  Pharsalia;  he  treats  you  more  like 
a  philosopher  than  a  poet,  and  instructs  you  in  verse  with  what  he 
had  been  taught  by  his  uncle  Seneca  in  prose.  In  one  word,  he  walks 
soberly,  afoot,  when  he  might  fly.  Yet  Lucan  is  not  always  this  religious 
40  historian.  The  oracle  of  Appius,  and  the  witchcraft  of  Erictho,  will 
somewhat  atone  for  him,  who  was  indeed  bound  up,  by  an  ill-chosen 
and  known  argument,  to  follow  truth  with  great  exactness.  For  my 
part,  I  am  of  opinion  that  neither  Homer,  Virgil,  Statins,  Ariosto,  Tasso, 
nor  our  English  Spenser,  could  have  form'd  their  poems  half  so  beau- 
tiful,  without   those   gods  and   spirits,   and   those   enthusiastic   parts   of 

^^^.        acrordinqUi  inlrndcd  to]    QlQ2Q.'?(jl.      uviordinijly  to  Q5F. 

]'.>.         bitter]   OlQliQ:5g4.      lutrr  C.).".F. 

ii".».       and  in  his]  QigiiQ.'?.     and  his  Q4Q5F  SsMK. 


10  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

poetry  which  compose  the  most  noble  parts  of  all  their  writings.  And 
I  will  ask  any  man  who  loves  heroic  poetry  (for  I  will  not  dispute  their 
tastes  who  do  not),  if  the  ghost  of  Polydorus  in  Virgil,  the  Enchanted 
Wood  in  Tasso,  and  the  Bower  of  Bliss  in  Spenser  (which  he  borrows 
from  that  admirable  Italian)  could  have  been  omitted,  without  taking 
from  their  works  some  of  the  greatest  beauties  in  them.  And  if  any 
man  object  the  improbabilities  of  a  spirit  appearing,  or  of  a  palace 
raisM  by  magic,  I  boldly  answer  him  that  an  heroic  poet  is  not  tied 
to  a  bare  representation  of  what  is  true,  or  exceeding  probable;  but  that 

10  he  may  let  himself  loose  to  visionary  objects,  and  to  the  representation 
of  such  things,  as,  depending  not  on  sense,  and  therefore  not  to  be 
comprehended  by  knowledge,  may  give  him  a  freer  scope  for  imagina- 
tion. 'Tis  enough  that,  in  all  ages  and  religions,  the  greatest  part  of 
mankind  have  believ'd  the  power  of  magic,  and  that  there  are  spirits, 
or  specters,  which  have  appear'd.  This,  I  say,  is  foundation  enough  for 
poetry;  and  I  dare  farther  affirm  that  the  whole  doctrine  of  separated 
beings,  whether  those  spirits  are  incorporeal  substances,  (which  Mr. 
Hobbes,  with  some  reason,  thinks  to  imply  a  contradiction,)  or  that 
they  are  a  thinner  or  more  aerial  sort  of  bodies,  (as  some  of  the  fathers 

20  have  conjectur'd,)  may  better  be  explicated  by  poets  than  by  philos- 
ophers or  divines.  For  their  speculations  on  this  subject  are  wholly 
poetical;  they  have  only  their  fancy  for  their  guide;  and  that,  being 
sharper  in  an  excellent  poet,  than  it  is  likely  it  should  in  a  phlegmatic, 
heavy  gownman,  will  see  farther  in  its  own  empire,  and  produce  more 
satisfactory  notions  on  those  dark  and  doubtful  problems. 

Some  men  think  they  have  rais'd  a  great  argument  against  the  use 
of  specters  and  magic  in  heroic  poetry,  by  saying  they  are  unnatural; 
but  whether  they  or  I  believe  there  are  such  things,  is  not  material :  'tis 
enough  that,  for  aught  we  know,  they  may  be  in  nature;   and  whatever 

30  is,  or  may  be,  is  not  properly  unnatural.  Neither  am  I  much  concern'd 
at  Mr.  Cowley's  verses  before  Gondibert  (tho'  his  authority  is  almost 
sacred  to  me).  'Tis  true,  he  has  resembled  the  old  epic  poetry  to  a 
fantastic  fairyland ;  but  he  has  contradicted  himself  by  his  own  ex- 
ample, for  he  has  himself  made  use  of  angels  and  visions  in  his 
Vavideis,  as  well  as  Tasso  in  his  Godfrey. 

What  I  have  written  on  this  subject  will  not  be  thought  digression 
by  the  reader,  if  he  please  to  remember  what  I  said  in  the  beginning 
of  this  essay,  that  I  have  model'd  my  heroic  plays  by  the  rules  of  an 
heroic  poem.     And  if  that  be  the  most  noble,   the  most  pleasant,  and 

40  the  most  instructive  way  of  writing  in  verse,  and  withal  the  highest 
pattern  of  human  life,  as  all  poets  have  agreed,  I  shall  need  no  other 
argument  to  justify  my  choice  in  this  imitation.  One  advantage  the 
drama  has  above  the  other,  namely,  that  it  represents  to  view  what  the 
poem  only  does  relate;  and,  Segnius  irritant  animum  demissa  per  aures, 
Quam  quce  sunt  oculis  subjecta  fdelibus,  as  Horace  tells  us. 


10.  way]   Q1Q3Q4.     might  Q5F. 

32.  the  old  epic]   QqP.      SsMK  omit  oid. 

36.  thoupht  digression]  QqF.     thought  a  digression  SsMK. 

40.  writing  in  verse]  Qq.     F  omits  in. 


ESSAY  OF  HEEOIC  PLAYS  U 

To  those  who  object  my  frequent  use  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  my 
representations  of  battles,  I  answer,  I  introduced  them  not  on  the  Eng- 
lish stage:  Shakespere  us'd  them  frequently;  and  the'  Jonson  shows  no 
battle  in  his  Catiline,  yet  you  hear  from  behind  the  scenes  the  sound- 
ing of  trumpets  and  the  shouts  of  fighting  armies.  But  I  add  farther, 
that  these  warlike  instruments,  and  even  the  representations  of  fighting 
on  the  stage,  are  no  more  than  necessary  to  produce  the  effects  of  an 
heroic  plaj';  that  is,  to  raise  the  imagination  of  the  audience,  and  to 
persuade  them,  for  the  time,  that  what  they  behold  on  the  theater  is 
10  really  pcrform'd.  The  poet  is,  then,  to  endeavor  an  absolute  dominion 
over  the  minds  of  the  spectators;  for,  tho'  our  fancy  will  contribute  to 
its  own  deceit,  yet  a  writer  ought  to  help  its  operation.  And  that  the 
Eed  Bull  has  formerly  done  the  same,  is  no  more  an  argument  against 
our  practice,  than  it  would  be  for  a  physician  to  forbear  an  ap- 
prov'd  medicine  because  a  mountebank  has  us'd  it  with  success. 

Thus  I  have  given  a  short  account  of  heroic  plays.     I  might  now, 

with  the  usual   eagerness   of  an   author,   make   a   particular   defense  of 

this.    But  the  common  opinion  (how  unjust  soever)  has  been  so  much  to 

my   advantage   that   I   have  reason  to   be  satisfied,  and   to   suffer,   with 

20  patience,  all  that  can  be  urg'd  against  it. 

For,  otherwise,  what  can  be  more  easy  for  me  than  to  defend  the 
character  of  Almanzor,  which  is  one  great  exception  that  is  made 
against  the  play?  Tis  said  that  Almanzor  is  no  perfect  pattern  of 
heroic  virtue,  that  he  is  a  contemner  of  kings,  and  that  he  is  made  to 
perform   impossibilities. 

I  must  therefore  avow,  in  the  first  place,  from  whence  I  took  the 
character.  The  first  image  I  had  of  him  was  from  the  Achilles  of 
Homer;  the  next  from  Tasso 's  Einaldo,  (who  was  a  copy  of  the  former,) 
and  the  third  from  the  Artaban  of  Monsieur  Calprenede,  (who  has  imi- 
30  tated  both).  The  original  of  these,  Achilles,  is  taken  by  Homer  for 
his  hero;  and  is  describ'd  by  him  as  one  w'ho  in  strength  and  courage 
surpass'd  the  rest  of  the  Grecian  army;  but,  withal,  of  so  fiery  a  temper, 
so  impatient  of  an  injury,  even  from  his  king  and  general,  that  when 
his  mistress  was  to  be  fore  'd  from  him  by  the  command  of  Agamemnon, 
he  not  only  disobey'd  it,  but  return'd  him  an  answer  full  of  con- 
tumely, and  in  the  most  opprobrious  terms  he  could  imagine.  They 
are  Homer's  words  which  follow,  and  I  have  cited  but  some  few  amongst 
a  multitude: 

Oivo/3ap(<:^  Kvvb<;  OfifjuiT   ^X'^^t  hpaZirjv  8'  iXa<f)oio. 

40  A-qfJiol36po<;  ftaatXtik,  &c. 

Nay,  he  proceeded  so  far  in  his  insolence,  as  to  draw  out  his  sword 
with  intention  to  kill  him: 

"^Xkcto  8'  CK  KoXeoio  fJ^tya  ^icfxy;. 

and,  if  Minerva  had  not  appear'd,  and  held  his  hand,  he  had  executed 
his  design ;   and    'twas  all  she  could  do  to  dissuade  him   from  it.     The 

3.       shows  no]   QlQ.'5y4.     shews  no  Q'>.     shews  me  no  F. 
6.        the  representations]   Q1Q3.      there  presentations  tj4.      Ihcir  presenta- 
tions Q5F  SsMK. 


12  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

event  was,  that  he  left  the  army,  and  would  fight  no  more.    Agamemnon 
gives  his  character  thus  to  Nestor: 

'AAA'  08'  dyr]p  iOiXei  irepl  Travrwv  i/x/xcvaL  oAAwv, 
HdvTiDV  fjitv  KpaTiuv   c^cXeij  TrdvTtcnri  8   dvdcracLV. 

and  Horace  gives  the  same  description  of  hira  in  his  Art  of  Poetry: 

Uonoratum  si  forte  reponis  Achillem, 
Impiger,  iracundus,  inexorabilis,  acer, 
Jura  neget  sibi  nata,  7iihil  non  arroget  armis. 

Tasso's  chief  character,  Rinaldo,  was  a  man  of  the  same  temper; 

10  for,  when  he  had  slain  Gernando  in  his  heat  of  passion,  he  not  only 

refus'd  to  be  judg'd  by  Godfrey,  his  general,  but  threaten'd  that  if  he 

came  to  seize  him,  he  would  right  himself  by  arms  upon  him;   witness 

these  following  lines  of  Tasso : 

Venga  egli,  0  mandi,  io  terrd  fermo  il  piede: 
Giudici  finn  tra  noi  la  sorte,  e  Varme; 
Fera  tragedia  vuol  che  s'appresenti, 
Per  lor  diporto,  alle  nemiche  genti. 

You  see  how  little  these  great  authors  did  esteem  the  point  of  honor, 

^     Bo  much  magnified  by  the  French,  and  so  ridiculously  ap'd  by  us.     They 

-A  made  their  heroes  men  of  honor;  but  so  as  not  to  divest  them  quite  of 

human   passions   and  frailties;    they  contented  themselves   to   show  you 

what  men  of  great  spirits  would  certainly  do  when  they  were  provok'd, 

not  what  they  were  oblig'd  to   do  by  the  strict  rules   of  moral  virtue. 

For  my  own  part,  I  declare  myself  for  Homer  and  Tasso,  and  am  more 

in   love   with    Achilles   and   Rinaldo   than   with    Cyrus   and    Oroondates. 

I  shall  never  subject  my  characters  to  the  French  standard,  where  lov^ 

and  honor  are  to  be  weigh'd  by  drachms  and  scruples.     Yet,  where  I 

have  design'd  the  patterns  of  exact  virtue,  such  as  in  this  play  are  the 

parts  of  Almahide,   of  Ozmyn,  and  Benzayda,   I  may  safely  challenge 

3Q  the  best  of  theirs. 

But  Almanzor  is  tax'd  with  changing  sides:  and  what  tie  has  he  on 
him  to  the  contrary?  He  is  not  born  their  subject  whom  he  serves,  and 
he  is  injur'd  by  them  to  a  very  high  degree.  He  threatens  them,  and 
speaks  insolently  of  sovereign  power;  but  so  do  Achilles  and  Rinaldo, 
who  were  subjects  and  soldiers  to  Agamemnon  and  Godfrey  of  Bul- 
loign.  He  talks  extravagantly  in  his  passion;  but,  if  I  would  take  the 
pains  to  quote  an  hundred  passages  of  Ben  Jonson's  Cethegus,  I  could 
easily  shew  you  that  the  rodomontades  of  Almanzor  are  neither  so  irra- 
tional as  his,  nor  so  impossible  to  be  put  in  execution;  for  Cethegus 
^Q  threatens  to  destroy  nature,  and  to  raise  a  new  one  out  of  it;  to  kill 
•all  the  senate  for  his  part  of  the  action;  to  look  Cato  dead;  and  a 
thousand  other  things  as  extravagant  he  says,  but  performs  not  one 
action  in  the  play. 

21.        contented]   Ql.     content  Q2Q3Q4Q5F. 
28.       virtue]  Q1Q2Q3.     virtues  Q4Q5F  SsMK. 


ESSAY  OF  HEROIC  PLAYS  13 

But  none  of  the  former  calumnies  will  stick;  and,  therefore,  'tia 
at  last  charg'd  upon  me  that  Almanzor  does  all  things;  or,  if  you  will 
have  an  absurd  accusation,  in  their  nonsense  who  make  it,  that  he  per- 
forms impossibilities.  They  say,  that,  being  a  stranger,  he  appeases 
two  fighting  factions,  when  the  authority  of  their  lawful  sovereign  could 
not.  This  is,  indeed,  the  most  improbable  of  all  his  actions,  but  'tia 
far  from  being  impossible.  Their  king  had  made  himself  contemptible 
to  his  people,  as  the  history  of  Granada  tells  us;  and  Almanzor,  tho' 
a   stranger,   yet   was   already   known   to    them   by   his   gallantry   in   the 

10  juego  de  tows,  his  engagement  on  the  weaker  side,  and  more  espe- 
cially by  the  character  of  his  person  and  brave  actions,  given  by  Abdalla 
just  before;  and,  after  all,  the  greatness  of  the  enterprise  consisted 
only  in  the  daring,  for  he  had  the  king's  guards  to  second  him.  But  we 
have  read  both  of  Cffisar,  and  many  other  generals,  who  have  not  only 
calm'd  a  mutiny  with  a  word,  but  have  presented  themselves  single  be- 
fore an  army  of  their  enemies;  which,  upon  sight  of  them,  has  revolted 
from  their  own  leaders,  and  come  over  to  their  trenches.  In  the  rest  of 
Almanzor 's  actions  you  see  him  for  the  most  part  victorious ;  but  the 
same    fortune    has    constantly    attended    many    heroes    \>-ho    were    not 

20  imaginary.  Yet,  you  see  it  no  inheritance  to  him;  for,  in  the  first  part, 
he  is  made  a  prisoner;  and,  in  the  last,  defeated,  and  not  able  to  pre- 
serve the  city  from  being  taken.  If  the  history  of  the  late  Duke  of 
Guise  be  true,  he  hazarded  more,  and  perform'd  not  less  in  Naples,  than 
Almanzor  is  feign'd  to  have  done  in  Granada. 

I  have  been  too  tedious  in  this  apology;  but  to  make  some  satisfac- 
tion, I  will  leave  the  rest  of  my  play  expos'd  to  the  critics,  without 
defense. 

The  concernment  of  it  is  wholly  pass'd  from  me,  and  ought  to  be  in 
them  who  have  been  favorable  to  it,  and  are  somewhat  oblig'd  to  defend 

30  their  own  opinions.     That  there  are  errors  in  it,  I  deny  not : 

Ast  opere  in  tanto  fas  est  obrepere  somnuvi. 

But  I  have  already  swept  the  stakes;  and,  with  the  common  good 
fortune  of  prosperous  gamesters,  can  be  content  to  sit  quietly;  to  hear 
my  fortune  curst  by  some,  and  my  faults  arraign'd  by  others;  and  to 
suffer  both  without  reply. 

20.       part}   QqF.     place  SsMK,  spoiling  the  sense. 

32.        their  own  opinions]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     their  opinions  Q5.     their  opinion  F. 


10 


20 


30 


PROLOGUE 
TO   THE   FIRST   PART 
SPOKEN    BY 

MRS.  ELLEN  GWYN 

IN    A    BROAD-BRIMM'D    HAT,    AND    WAIST-BELT 

This  jest  was  first  of  t'  other  house's  making, 
And  five  times  tried,  has  never  fail'd  of  taking; 
For  'twere  a  shame  a  poet  should  be  kill'd 
Under  the  shelter  of  so  broad  a  shield. 
This  is  that  hat,  whose  very  sight  did  win  ye 
To  laugh  and  clap  as  tho'  the  devil  were  in  ye. 
As  then,  for  Nokes,  so  now  I  hope  you'll  be 
So  dull,  to  laugh,  once  more,  for  love  of  me. 
"I'll  write  a  play,"  says  one,  "for  I  have  got 
A  broad-brimm'd  hat,  and  waist-belt,  tow'rds  a  plot." 
Says  t'  other,  "I  have  one  more  large  than  that." 
Thus  they  outwrite  each  other  with  a  hat! 
The  brims  still  grew  with  every  play  they  writ; 
And  grew  so  large,  they  cover 'd  all  the  wit. 
Hat  was  the  play;  'twas  language,  wit,  and  tale: 
Like  them  that  find  meat,  drink,  and  cloth  in  ale. 
What  dulness  do  these  mungril  wits  confess, 
When  all  their  hope  is  acting  of  a  dress! 
Thus,  two  the  best  comedians  of  the  age 
Must  be  worn  out,  with  being  blocks  o'  th'  stage; 
Like  a  young  girl   who   better  things  has  known, 
Beneath  their  poet's  impotence  they  groan. 
See  now  what  charity  it  was  to  save! 
They  thought  you  lik'd,  what  only  you  forgave; 
And  brought  you  more  dull  sense,  dull  sense  much  worse 
Than   brisk   gay  nonsense,   and   the  heavier   curse. 
They  bring  old  ir'n  and  glass  upon  the  stage, 
To  barter  with  the  Indians  of  our  age. 
Still  they  write  on,  and  like  great  authors  show; 
But  'tis  as  rollers  in  wet  gardens  grow 
Heavy  with  dirt,  and  gath'ring  as  they  go. 
May  none,  who  have  so  little  understood. 
To  like  such  trash,  presume  to  praise  what's  good! 

14 


} 


PROLOGUE  15 

And  may  those  drudges  of  the  stage,  whose  fate 
Is  damn'd  dull  farce  more  dully  to  translate, 
Fall  under  that  excise  the  State  thinks  fit 
To  set  on  all  French  wares,  whose  worst  is  wit. 
French   farce,  worn  out  at   home,  is  sent  abroad; 
And,  patch  'd  up  here,  is  made  our  English  mode, 
40         Henceforth,  let  poets,  ere  allow'd  to  write, 
Be  search 'd,  like  duelists,  before  they  fight. 
For  wheel-broad  hats,  dull  humor,  all  that  chaff 
Which  makes  you  mourn,  and  makes  the  vulgar  laugh: 
For  these,  in  plays,  are  as  unlawful   arms, 
As,  in  a  combat,  coats  of  mail  and  charms. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 


MEN 


Mahomet  Boabdelin,  the  last  king  of  Granada. 

Prince  Abdalla,  his  brother. 

Abdelmelech,  chief  of  the  Ahencerrages. 

ZULExMA,  chief  of  the  Zegrys. 

Abenamar,  an  old  Abencerrago. 

Selin,  an  old  Zegry. 

OzMYN,  a  brave  young  Abencerrago,  son  to  Abenamar. 

Hamet,  brother  to  Zulema,  a  Zegry. 

Gomel,  a  Zegry. 

Almanzor. 

Ferdinand,  1ci7ig  of  Spain. 

Duke  of  Arcos,  his  General. 

Don  Alonzo  d'Aguilar,  a  Spanish  Captain. 


WOMEN 

Almahide,  queen  of  Granada. 
Lyndaraxa,  sister  of  Zulema,  a  Zegry  lady. 
Benzayda,  daughter  to  Selin. 
Esperanza,  slave  to  the  queen. 
Halyma,  slave  to  Lyndaraxa. 

Isabella,  queen  of  Spain. 

Messengers,    Guards,    Attendants,   Men,    and    Women. 

The  SCENE  in  Granada,  and  the  Christian  Camp 
besieging  it. 


ALMANZOR  AND  ALMAHIDE    ^    ,, 

OB  c 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 
Part  I 
ACT  I 

BoABDELiN,  Abenamar,  Abdelmelech,  Guards. 

Boab.     Thus,  in  the  triumphs  of  soft  peace,  I  reign; 

And,  from  my  walls,  defy  the  pow'rs  of  Spain; 

With  pomp  and  sports  my  love  I  celebrate, 

While   they   keep   distance,   and   attend    my   state. — 

Parent  to  her,  whose  eyes  my  soul  inthral,  [2'o  Aben. 

Whom  I,  in  hope,  already  father  call, 

Abenamar,  thy  youth  these  sports  has  known. 

Of  which  thy  age  is  now  spectator  grown; 

Judge-like  thou  sit'st,  to  praise,  or  to  arraign 
10  The  flying  skirmish  of  the  darted  cane: 

But  when  fierce  bulls  run  loose  upon  the  place. 

And  our  bold  Moors  their  loves  with  danger  grace, 

Then  heat  new-bends  thy  slaeken'd  nerves  again, 

And  a  short  youth  runs  warm  thro'  every  vein. 

Aben.     I  must  confess  th'   encounters   of   this   day 

Warm'd   me  indeed,  but  quite  another  way : 

Not  with  the  fire  of  youth;   but  gen'rous  rage, 

To  see  the  glories  of  my  youthful  age 

So  far  outdone. 
20        Abdclm.     Castile  could  never  boast,  in  all  its  pride, 

A  pomp  so  splendid,  when  the  lists,  set  wide, 

Gave  room  to  the  fierce  bulls,  which  wildly  ran 

In  Sierra  Ronda,  ere  the  war  began; 

Who,  with  high  nostrils  snuffing  up  the  wind. 

Now  stood   the  champions  of  the   salvage  kind. 

Just   opposite,  within   the  circled   place, 

Ten   of  our   bold   Abencerrages'   race 

(Each   brandishing  his   bull-spear  in   his  hand) 

24.     snuffing]   QlQ2Q:iQ4.     sntifflincj  Q5F. 

17 


18  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Did   their  proud   ginnets   gracefully  command. 
SO  On  their  stcel'd  heads  their  demi-lances  wore 

Small  pennons,  which  their  ladies'  colors  bore. 

Before  this  troop  did  warlike  Ozmyn  go; 

Each  lady,  as  he  rode,  saluting  low; 

At  the  chief  stands,  with  reverence  more  profound. 

His  well-taught  courser,  kneeling,  touch'd  the  ground; 

Thence  rais'd,  he  sidelong  bore  his  rider  on, 

Still  facing,  till  he  out  of  sight  was  gone. 

Boab.     You  praise  him  like  a  friend;  and  I  confess, 

His  brave  deportment  merited  no  less. 
40        Abdelm.     Nine  bulls  were  launch'd  by  his  victorious  arm, 

Whose  wary  ginnet,  shunning  still  the  harm, 

Seem'd  to  attend  the  shock,  and  then  leap'd  wide: 

Meanwhile,  his  dcxt'rous  rider,  when  he  spied 

The  beast  just  stooping,  "twixt  the  neck  and  head 

His  lance,  with  never-erring  fury,  sped. 

Aben.     My  son  did  well,  and  so  did  Hamet  too; 

Yet  did  no  more  then  we  were  wont  to  do; 

But  what  the  stranger  did  was  more  then  man. 

Abdelm.     He  finished  all  those  triumphs  we  began. 
50  One  bull,  with  curl'd  black  head,  beyond  the  rest, 

And  dewlaps  hanging  from  his  brawny  chest, 

With  nodding  front  awhile  did  daring  stand. 

And  with  his  jetty  hoof  spurn 'd  back  the  sand; 

Then,  leaping  forth,  he  bellow'd  out  aloud: 

Th'  amaz'd  assistants  back  each  other  crowd. 

While  monarch-like  he  rang'd  the  listed  field; 

Some  toss'd,  some  gor'd,  some  trampling  down  he  kill'd. 

Th'  ignobler  Moors  from  far  his  rage  provoke 

With  woods  of  darts,  which  from  his  sides  he  shook. 
60  Meantime  your  valiant  son,  who  had  before 

Gain'd  fame,  rode  round  to  every  mirador; 

Beneath  each  lady's  stand  a  stop  he  made, 

And,  bowing,  took  th'  applauses  which  they  paid. 

Just  in  that  point  of  time,  the  brave  unknown  ■ 

Approach'd  the  lists. 

Boab.  I  mark'd  him,  when  alone 

(Observ'd  by  all,  himself  observing  none) 

He  enter'd  first,  and  with  a  graceful  pride 

His  fiery  Arab  dext'rously  did  guide, 

Who,   while   his  rider  every   stand  survey'd, 
70  Sprung  loose,  and  flew  into  an  escapade; 

Not  moving  forward,  yet,  with  every  bound,      , 

Pressing,  and  seeming  still  to  quit  his  ground. 
WTiat  after  pass'd 

Was  far  from  the  ventanna  where  I  sate, 

But  you  were  near,  and  can  the  truth  relate.  [To  Abdelm. 

29.     ginnets]   ginnet  is  the  regular  spelling  in  Q1Q2Q3Q4  ;  gcnnet  in  Q5F. 


PART  I,  ACT  I  19 

Ahdelm.     Thus  while  he  stood,  the  bull,  who  saw  this  foe, 

His  easier  conquests   proudly   did   forego; 

And,  making  at  him  with  a  furious  bound, 

From  his  bent  forehead  aim'd  a  double  wound. 
80  A  rising  murmur  ran  thro'  all  the  field. 

And  every  lady's  blood  with  fear  was  chill'd: 

Some  shriek'd,  while  others,  with  more  helpful  care, 

Cried  out  aloud,  "Beware,  brave  youth,  beware!" 

At  this  he  turn'd,  and,  as  the  bull  drew  near, 

Shunn'd  and  receiv'd  him  on  his  pointed  spear: 

The  lance  broke  short;  the  beast  then  bellow'd  loud. 

And  his  strong  neck  to  a  new  onset  bow'd. 

Th'  undaunted  youth 

Then  drew;  and  from  his  saddle  bending  low,  ^ 

80  Just   where   the   neck   did   to   the   shoulders   grow,     > 

With  his  full   force  discharg'd  a   deadly  blow.         J 

Not  heads  of  poppies   (when  they  reap  the  grain) 

Fall  with  more  ease  before  the  lab 'ring  swain, 

Then  fell  this  head: 

It  fell  so  quick,  it  did  even  death  prevent, 

And  made   imperfect  bellowings  as  it  went. 

Then  all  the  trumpets  victory  did  sound. 

And  yet  their  clangors  in  our  shouts  were  drown'd. 

[A  eonfus'd  noise  within. 
Boab.     Th'  alarm-bell  rings  from  our  Alhambra  walls, 
100  And  from  the  streets  sound  drums  and  atabals. 

[Within,  a  bell,  drums,  and  trumpets. 

To  them  a  Messenger. 

How  now?     From   whence   proceed   these  new   alarms? 

Mess.     The  two  fierce   factions  are  again   in  arms; 
And,  changing  into  blood  the  day 's  delight. 
The  Zegrys  with  the  Abencerrages  fight; 
On  each  side  their  allies  and  friends  appear; 
The  Magas  here,  the  Alabezes  there: 
The  Gazuls  with  the  Bencerrages  join, 
And  with  the  Zegrys,  all  great  Gomel's  line. 

Boab.     Draw  up  behind  the  Vivarambla  place; 
110  Double  my  guards, — these  factions  I  will  face; 
And  try  if  all  the  fury  they  can  bring, 
Be  proof  against  the  presence  of  their  king.  [Exit  Boab. 

The  Factions  appear:  at  the  head  of  the  Abencerrages,  Ozmyn, 
at  the  head  of  the  Zegrys,  Zulema,  Hamet,  Gomel,  and 
Selin:  Abenamar  and  Abdelmelech,  join'd  with  the 
Abencerrages. 

Zul.     The  faint  Abercerrages  quit  their  ground: 
Press  'em;  put  home  your  thrusts  to  every  wound. 

76.     thin  foe]  QqF.     his  foe  SsM. 


20  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Abdelm.     Zegry,  on  manly  force  our  line   relics; 
Thine  poorly  takes  th'  advantage  of  surprise: 
Unarm 'd  and  much  outnumber 'd  we  retreat; 
You  gain  no  fame,  when  basely  you  defeat. 
If  thou  art  brave,  seek  nobler  victory;  1 

120  Save  Moorish  blood;   and,  while  our  bands  stand  by,  >- 
Let  two  to  two  an  equal  combat  try.  J 

liam.     'Tis  not  for  fear  the  combat  we  refuse, 
But  we  our  gain'd  advantage  will  not  lose. 

Zul.     In  combating,  but  two  of  you  will  fall; 
And  we  resolve  we  will  dispatch  you  all. 

Ozm.     We'll  double  yet  th'  exchange  before  we  die, 
And  each  of  ours  two  lives  of  yours  shall  buy. 

Almanzor  enters  betwixt  them,  as  they  stand  ready  to  engage. 

Aim.     I  cannot  stay  to  ask  which  cause  is  best; 
But  this  is  so  to  me,  because  oppress'd.  [Goes  to  the  Abencerrages. 

To  them  Boabdelin  and  his  guards,  going  betwixt  them. 

130        Boab.     On  your  allegiance,  I  command  you  stay; 

Who  passes  here,  thro'  me  must  make  his  way; 

My  life's  the  Isthmos;   thro'  this  narrow  line 

You  first  must  cut,  before  those  seas  can  join. 

What  fury,  Zegrys,  has  possess 'd  your  minds? 

What  rage  the  brave  Abencerrages  blinds? 

If  of  your  courage  you  new  proofs  would  show, 

Without  much  travel  you  may  find  a  foe. 

Those  foes  are  neither  so  remote  nor  few, 

That  you  should  need  each  other  to  pursue. 
140  Lean  times  and  foreign  wars  should  minds  unite; 

When  poor,  men  mutter,  but  they  seldom  fight. 

O  holy  Alha!  that  I  live  to  see 

Thy  Granadins  assist  their  enemy! 

You   fight   the  Christians'   battles;   every  life 

You  lavish  thus,  in  this  intestine  strife. 

Does  from  our  weak  foundations  take  one  prop, 

Which  help'd  to  hold  our  sinking  country  up. 

Ozm.     "Tis  fit  our  private  enmity  should  cease; 

Tho'  injur'd  first,  yet  I  will  first  seek  peace. 
150        Zul.     No,  murd'rer,  no;  I  never  will  be  won 

To  peace  with  him  whose  hand  has  slain  my  son. 
Ozm.     Our  prophet's  curse 

On  me,  and  all  th'  Abencerrages  light. 

If  unprovok'd  I  with  your  son  did  fight. 

Abdelm.     A  band  of  Zegrys  ran  within  the  place, 

Match'd  with  a  troop  of  thirty  of  our  race. 

Your  son  and  Ozmyn  the  first  squadrons  led, 

Which,  ten  by  ten,  like  Parthians,  charg'd  and  fled; 

121.     two  to  two]  QqF.     two  and  two  SsM. 


PAET  I,  ACT  I  21 

The  ground  was  strow'd  with  canes  where  we  did  meet, 
160  Which  crackled  underneath  our  coursers'  feet: 
When  Tarifa   (I  saw  him  ride  apart) 
Chang 'd  his  blunt  cane  for  a  steel-pointed  dart; 
And,  meeting  Ozmyn  next, 
Who  wanted  time  for  treason  to  provide, 
He  basely  threw  it  at  him,  undefied. 

Osm.  [Showing  his  arm.]     Witness  this  blood — which  when  by  treason 
sought. 
That  follow'd,  sir,  which  to  myself  I  ought. 

Zul.     His  hate  to  thee  was  grounded  on  a  grudge 
Which  all  our  generous  Zegrys  just  did  judge: 
170  Thy   villain-blood   thou    openly    didst    place 
Above  the  purple  of  our  kingly  race. 

Boab.     From  equal  stems  their  blood  both  houses  draw. 
They  from  Morocco,  you  from  Cordova. 

Uam.     Their  mungril  race  is  mix'd  with  Christian  breed; 
Hence  'tis  that  they  those  dogs  in  prisons  feed. 
Abdelm.     Our  holy  prophet  wills  that  charity 
Should  ev'n  to  birds  and  beasts  extended  be: 
None  knows  what  fate  is  for  himself  design'd; 
The  thought  of  human  chance  should  make  us  kind. 
liO         Gom.     We  waste  that  time  we  to  revenge  should  give: 
Fall  on;  let  no  Abeneerrago  live. 

[Advanciiig  before  the  rest  of  his  imrty.     Almanzor,  advancing 
on  the  other  side,  and  describing  a  line  with  his  sword, 
Almam.     Upon  thy  life,  pass  not  this  middle  space; 
Sure  death  stands  guarding  the  forbidden  place. 

Gom.     To  dare  that  death,  I  will  approach  yet  nigher; 
Thus — wert  thou  compass'd  in  with  circling  fire.  [They  fight. 

Boab.     Disarm   "em  both;   if  they  resist  you,  kill. 

[Almanzor,  in  the  midst  of  the  guards,  kills  Gomel, 

and  then  is  disarm'd. 
Almanz.     Now  you  have  but  the  leavings  of  my  will. 
Boab.     Kill  him!    this  insolent  unknown  shall   fall, 
And  be  the  victim  to  atone  you  all. 
190         Ozm.     If  he  must  die,  not  one  of  us  will  live: 
That  life  he  gave  for  us,  for  him  we  give. 

Boab.     It  was  a  traitor's  voice  that  spoke  those  words; 
So  are  you  all,  who  do  not  sheathe  your  swords. 

Zul.     Outrage  unpunish'd,  when  a  prince  is  by, 
Forfeits  to  scorn  the  rights  of  majesty: 
No  subject  his  protection  can  expect, 
Who  what  he  owes  himself  does  first  neglect. 

Aben.     This  stranger,  sir,  is  he 
Who  lately  in  the  Vivarambla  place 
200  Did,  with  so  loud  applause,  your  triumphs  grace. 


161.      Ttirifa]    In   QtjF  tho  spollinfr  varies  liotwoon   Tarifn   and   Tarifja. 
166.     arm]   giQ4y.jF.     Q2  and  g:5  omit  the  stage-direction,     arms  SsM. 


22  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Boab.     The  word  which  I  have  giv'n,  I'll  not  revoke; 
If  he  be  brave,  he's  ready  for  the  stroke. 

Ahnanc.     No  man  has  more  contempt  than  I  of  breath, 
But  whence  hast  thou  the  right  to  give  me  death? 
Obey'd  as  sovereign  by  thy  subjects  be, 
But  know  that  I  alone  am  king  of  me. 
I  am  as  free  as  nature  first  made  man,       "j 

Ere  the  base  laws  of  servitude  began,  >  '■  f'^P 

When  wild  in  woods  the  noble  savage  ran.   J  Q 

210        Boab.     Since,  then,  no  pow'r  above  your  own  you  know, 
Mankind  should  use  you  like  a  common   foe; 
You  should  be  hunted  like  a  beast  of  prey: 
By  your  own  law  I  take  yoi.r  life  away. 

Almanz.     My  laws  aie  raade  but  only  for  my  sake; 
No  king  against  himself  a  law  can  make. 
If  thou  pretend'st  to  be  a  prince  like  me. 
Blame  not  an  act  which  should  thy  pattern  be. 
I  saw  th'  oppress'd,  and  thought  it  did  belong 
To  a  king's  office  to  redress  the  wrong: 
220  I  brought  that  succor  which  thou  ought'st  to  bring. 
And  so,  in  nature,  am  thy  subjects'  king. 

Boab.     I  do  not  want  your  counsel  to  direct, 
Or  aid  to  help  me  punish  or  protect. 

Almanz.     Thou  want'st  'em  both,  or  better  thou  wouldst  know, 
Then  to  let  factions  in  thy  kingdom  grow. 
Divided  int'rests,  while  thou  think'st  to  sway, 
Draw,  like  two  brooks,  thy  middle  stream  away: 
For  tho'  they  band  and  jar,  yet  both  combine 
To  make  their  greatness  by  the  fall  of  thine. 
230  Thus,  like  a  buckler,  thou  art  held  in  sight. 
While  they,  behind  thee,  with  each  other  fight. 

Boab.     Away,  and  execute  him   instantly!  [To  his   Guards 

Almanz.     Stand  off;   I  have  not  leisure  yet  to  die. 

To  them,  Abdalla  hastily. 

Abdal.     Hold,  sir!     for  heav'n  sake  hold! 
Defer  this  noble  stranger's  punishment, 
Or  your  rash  orders  you  will  soon  repent. 

Boab.     Brother,  you  know  not  yet  his  insolence. 

Abdal.     Upon  yourself  you   punish  his  offense: 
If  we  treat  gallant  strangers  in  this  sort, 
240  Mankind  will  shun  th'  inhospitable  court; 

And  who,  henceforth,  to  our  defense  will  eome, 
If  death  must  be  the  brave  Almanzor's  doom? 
From  Africa  I  drew  him  to  your  aid, 

220.     that  aurcor']   Qq.     the  sticcor  F. 

[To  them,  Abdallal  QqF.     SsM  insert  enter.     Similar  variations,  unrecorded 
In  these  notes,  occur  later. 

234.     for  heav'n  sake]  Q1Q2Q4Q5F.      heav'ns  Q3.     heaven's  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  I  23 

And  for  his  succor  have  his  life  betray'd. 

Boab.     Is  this  th'  Almanzor  whom  at  Fez  you  knew, 
When  first  their  swords  the  Xeriff  brothers  drew? 

Ahdal.     This,  sir,  is  he  who  for  the  elder  fought, 
And  to  the  juster  cause  the  conquest  brought; 
Till  the  proud  Santo,  seated  in  the  throne, 
250  Disdain'd  the  service  he  had  done  to  own: 
Theu  to  the  vanquish'd  part  his  fate  he  led; 
The  vanquish'd  triuniph'd,  and  the  victor  fled. 
Vast  is  his  courage,  boundless  is  his  mind, 
Rough  as  a  storm,  and  humorous  as  wind : 
Honor's  the  only  idol  of  his  eyes; 
The  charms  of  beauty  like  a  pest  he  flies; 
And,  rais'd  by  valor  from  a  birth  unknown, 
Acknowledges  no  pow'r  above  his  own. 

[BoABDELiN  coming  to  Almanzor. 

Boab.     Impute  your  danger  to  our  ignorance; 
260  The  bravest  men  are  subject  most  to  chance: 
Granada  much  does  to  your  kindness  owe;  "| 
But  towns,  expecting  sieges,  cannot  show      > 
More  honor  then  t'  invite  you  to  a  foe.       J 

Almanz.     I  do  not  doubt  but  I  have  been  to  blame: 
But,  to  pursue  the  end  for  which  I  came, 
Unite  your  subjects  first;   then  let  us  go, 
And  pour  their  common  rage  upon  the  foe. 

Boab.  {to  the  Factions.]     Lay  down  your  arms,  and  let  me  beg  you 
cease 
Your  enmities. 

Zul.     We  will  not  hear  of  peace, 
270  Till  we  by  force  have  first  reveng'd  our  slain. 

Abdelm.     The  action  we  have  done  we  will  maintain. 

Sclin.     Then  let  the  king  depart,  and  we  will  try 
Our  cause  by  arms. 

Zul.  For  us  and  victory! 

Boab.     A  king  intreats  you. 

Almanz.     W^hat  subjects  will  precarious  kings  regard? 
A  beggar  speaks  too  softly  to  be  heard: 
Lay  down  your  arms!    'Tis  I  command  you  now. 
Do  it — or,  by  our  prophet's  soul   I  vow. 
My  hands  shall  right  your  king  on  him  I  seize. 
280  Now  let  me  see  whose  look  but  disobeys. 

Omnes.     Long  live  King  Mahomet  Boabdelin! 

Almanz.     No  more;   but  hush'd  as  midnight  silence  go: 
He  will  not  have  your  acclamations  now. 
Hence,  you  unthinking  crowd!  — 

[The  common  people  go  off  on  both  parties. 
Empire,  thou  poor  and   despicable  thing, 


•24n.     in]   Q(iF.      on   SsM. 

273.     victory  1]    victory.     QqF  SsM. 


24  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

When  such  as  these  unmake  or  make  a  king! 

Ahdal.     How  much  of  virtue  lies  in  one  great  soul 

[Emhracing  him. 
Whose  single  force  can  multitudes  control!  [A    trumpet  within. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.     The  Duke  of  Arcos,  sir, 
290  Does  with  a  trumpet  from  the  foe  appear. 

Boab.     Attend  him;   he  shall  have  his  audience  here. 

Enter  the  Dul~e  of  Aecos. 

D.  Arcos.     The  monarchs  of  Castile  and  Aragon  ^ 
Have  sent  me  to  you,  to  demand  this  town,  > 

To  which  their  just  and  rightful  claim  is  known.       J 

Boab.     Tell  Ferdinand,  my  right  to   it  appears 
By  long  possession  of  eight  hundred  years: 
When  first  my  ancestors  from  Afric  sail'd, 
In  Kodrique's  death  your  Gothic  title  fail'd. 

D.  Arcos.     The  successors  of  Rodrique  still  remain, 
300  And  ever  since  have  held  some  part  of  Spain: 
Ev"n  in  the  midst  of  your  victorious  pow'rs, 
Th'  Asturias,  and  all  Portugal,  were  ours. 
You  have  no  right,  except  you  force  allow; 
And  if  yours  then  was  just,  so  ours  is  now. 

Boab.     'Tis  true  from   force  the  noblest  title  springs; 
I  therefore  hold  from  that,  which  first  made  kings. 

D.  Arcos.     Since  then  by  force  you  prove  your  title  true, 
Ours  must  be  just,  because  we  claim  from  you. 
When  with  your  father  you  did  jointly  reign, 
310  Invading  with  your  Moors  the  south  of  Spain, 
I,  who  that  day  the  Christians  did  command, 
Then  took,  and  brought  you  bound  to  Ferdinand. 

Boab.     I'll  hear  no  more;   defer  what  you  would  say: 
In  private  we'll  discourse  some  other  day. 

D.  Arcos.     Sir,  you  shall  hear,  however  you  are  loth, 
That,  like  a  perjur'd  prince,  you  broke  your  oath: 
To  gain  your  freedom  you  a  contract  sign'd, 
By  which  your  crown  you  to  my  king  resign'd, 
From   thenceforth  as  his  vassal  holding  it, 
320  And  paying  tribute  such  as  he  thought  fit; 
Contracting,  when  your  father  came  to  die, 
To  lay  aside  all  marks  of  royalty. 
And  at  Purehena  privately  to  live, 
Which,  in  exchange.  King  Ferdinand  did  give. 

Boab.     The  force  us'd  on  me  made  that  contract  void. 

D.  Arcos.     Why  have  you  then  its  benefits  enjoy'd? 
By  it  you  had  not  only  freedom  then. 
But,  since,  had  aid  of  money  and  of  men; 

286.      unmake  or  make]    QqF.     make  or  unmake  SsM. 


PAET  I,  ACT  I  25 

And,  when  Granada  for  your  uncle  held, 
330  You  were  by  us  restor'd,  and  he  expell'd. 

Since  that,  in  peace  we  let  you  reap  your  grain, 
Eecall'd  our  troops,  that  us'd  to  beat  your  plain; 
And  more — 

Almanz.     Yes,  yes,  you  did  with  wondrous  care, 
Against  his  rebels  prosecute  the  war, 
While  he  secure  in  your  protection  slept; 
For  him  you  took,  but  for  yourselves  you  kept. 
Thus,  as  some  fawning  usurer  does  feed 
With  present  sums  th'  unwary  unthrift's  need, 
You  sold  your  kindness  at  a  boundless  rate, 
340  And  then  o'erpaid  the  debt  from  his  estate; 

Which,  mold  'ring  piecemeal,  in  your  hands  did  fall. 
Till  now  at  last  you  came  to  swoop  it  all. 

D.  Arcos.     The  wrong  you  do  my  king   I  cannot  bear; 
Whose  kindness  you  would  odiously  compare. 
Th'  estate  was  his;  which  yet,  since  you  deny. 
He's  now  content,  in  his  own  wrong,  to  buy. 

Almanz.     And  he  shall  buy  it  dear  what  his  he  calls — 
We  will  not  give  one  stone  from  out  these  walls. 

Boab.     Take  this   for  answer,  then, 

350  Whate'er  your  arms  have  conquered  of  my  land, 
I  will,  for  peace,   resign  to  Ferdinand. 
To  harder  terms  my  mind  I  cannot  bring; 
But,  as  I  still  have  liv'd,  will  die  a  king. 

D.  Arcos.     Since  thus  you  have  resolv'd,  henceforth  prepare 
For  all  the  last  extremities  of  war: 
My  king  his  hope  from  heaven's  assistance   draws. 

Almanz.     The  Moors  have  heav'n,  and  me,  t'  assist  their  cause. 

[Exit  Arcos. 

Enter  Esperanza. 

Espcr.     Fair  Almahide, 
(Who  did  with  weeping  eyes  these  discords  see, 
360  And  fears  the  omen  may  unlucky  be,) 

Prepares  a  zambra  to  be  danc"d  this  night. 
In  hope  soft  pleasures  may  your  minds  unite. 

Boab.     My  mistress  gently  chides  the  fault  I  made;^ 
But  tedious  business  has  my  love  delay'd :  ?■ 

Business,  which  dares  the  joys  of  kings  invade.  J 

Almanz.     First  let  us  sally  out,  and  meet  the  foe. 

Abdal.     Led  on  by  you,  we  on  to  triumph  go. 

Boab.     Then  with  the  day  let  war  and  tumult  cease; 
The  night  be  sacred  to  our  love  and  peace: 
370  'Tis  just  some  joys  on  weary  kings  should  wait; 
'Tis  all  we  gain  by  being  slaves  of  state. 

[Exeunt  omnes. 

371.     of  state]   Q1Q2Q:{Q4.      to  state  Q5F   SsM. 


26  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 


ACT  II 

Abdalla,  Abdelmelecii,   Ozmyn,   Zulema,  Hamet,   as  returning   from 

the  sally. 

Ahdal.     This  happy  day  docs  to  Granada  bring 
A  lasting  peace,  and  triumphs  to  the  king: 
The  two  fierce  factions  will  no  longer  jar, 
Since  they  have  now  been  brothers  in  the  war. 
Those  who,  apart,  in  emulation  fought, 
The  common  danger  to  one  body  brought; 
And,  to  his  cost,  the  proud  Castilian  finds 
Our  Moorish  courage  in  united  minds. 

Abdelm.     Since  to  each  other's  aid  our  lives  we  owe, 
jQ  Lose  we  the  name  of  faction,  and  of  foe; 
Which  I  to  Zulema  can  bear  no  more, 
Since  Lyndaraxa's  beauty  I  adore. 

Z^il.     1  am   oblig'd  to  Lyndaraxa's  charms. 
Which  gain  the  conquest  I  should  lose  by  arms; 
And  wish  my  sister  may  continue  fair, 
That  I  may  keep  a  good, 
Of  whose  possession  I  should  else  despair. 

Ozm.     While  we  indulge  our  common  happiness, 
He  is  forgot,  by  whom  we  all  possess; 
20  The  brave  Almanzor,  to  whose  arms  wc  owe 
All  that  we  did,  and  all  that  we  shall  do; 
Who,  like  a  tempest  that  outrides  the  wind. 
Made  a  just  battle  ere  the  bodies  join'd. 

Abdelm.     His  victories  we  scarce  could  keep  in  view, 
Or  polish  'em  so  fast  as  he  rough-drew. 

Abdal.     Fate,  after  him,  below  with  pain  did  move, 
And  victory  could  scarce  keep  pace  above: 
Death  did  at  length  so  many  slain  forget, 
And  lost  the  tale,  and  took  'em  by  the  great. 

To  them  Almanzor  with  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  prisoner. 

Hamet.     See,  here  he  comes, 
And  leads  in  triumph  him  who  did  command 
The  vanquish'd  army  of  King  Ferdinand. 

Almanz.   [To  the  Duke  of  Arcos.]    Thus  far  your  master's  arms  a 
fortune  find 
Below  the  swell'd  ambition  of  his  mind; 
And  Alha  shuts  a  misbeliever's  reign 
From  out  the  best  and  goodliest  part  of  Spain. 
Let  Ferdinand  Calabrian  conquests  make, 
And  from  the  French  contested  Milan  take; 
■  Let  him  new  worlds  discover  to  the  old, 
.»  And  break  up  shining  mountains,  big  with  gold; 
Yet  he  shall  find  this  small  domestic  foe. 


PAET  I,  ACT  II  27 

Still  sharp  and  pointed,  to  his  bosom  grow. 

D.  Arcos.     Of  small  advantages  too  much  you  boast; 
You  beat  the  out-guards  of  my  master's  host : 
This  little  loss,  in  our  vast  body,  shews 
So  small,  that  half  have   never  heard  the  news. 
Fame's  out  of  breath,  ere  she  can  fly  so  far. 
To  tell  'em  all  that  you  have  e'er  made  war. 

Ahnanz.     It  pleases  me  your  army  is  so  great; 
50  For  now  I  know  there's  more  to  conquer  yet. 
By  heav'n,  I'll  see  what  troops  you  have  behind: 
I'll  face  this  storm   that   thickens  in  the  wind; 
And,  with  bent  forehead,  full  against  it  go. 
Till  I  have  found  the  last  and  utmost  foe. 

X>.  Arcos.     Believe,  you  shall  not  long  attend  in  vain: 
To-morrow's  dawn  shall  cover  all  your  plain; 
Bright  arms  shall  flash  upon  you  from  afar, 
A  wood  of  lances,  and  a  moving  war. 
But  I,  unhappy  in  my  bands,  must  yet 
60  Be  only  pleas'd  to  hear  of  your  defeat. 
And  with  a   slave's  inglorious  ease  remain, 
Till  conquering  Ferdinand   has  broke  my  chain. 

Almanz.     Vain  man,  thy  hopes  of  Ferdinand  are  weak! 
I  hold  thy  chain  too  fast  for  him  to  break. 
But,  since  thou  threaten'st  us,  I'll  sot  thee  free. 
That  I  again  may  fight,  and  conquer  thee. 

D.  Arcos.     Old  as  I  am,  I  take  thee  at  thy  word, 
And  will  to-morrow  thank  thee  with  my  sword. 

Almanz.     I'll  go,  and  instantly  acquaint   the  king, 
70  And  sudden  orders  for  thy  freedom  bring. 
Thou  canst  not  be  so  pleas'd  at  liberty 
As  I  shall  be  to  find  thou  dar'st  be  free. 

[Exeunt  Almanzor,  Arcos,  and  the  rest, 
excepting  only  Abdalla  and  Zulema. 

Abdal.     Of  all  tliose  Christians  who  infest  this  town. 
This  Duke  of  Arcos  is  of  most  renown. 

Zul.     Oft  have  I  heard  that  in  your  father's  reign 
His  bold  advent'rers  beat  the  neighb'ring  plain; 
Then  under  Ponce  Leon's  name  he  fought, 
And  from  our  triumphs  many  prizes  brought; 
Till,  in  disgrace,  from  Spain  at  length  he  went, 
80  And  since  continued  long  in  banishment. 

Abdal.     But  see,  your  beauteous  sister  does  appear. 

To   them  Lyndaraxa. 

Zul.     By  my  desire  she  came  to  find  me  here. 

[Zulema  and  Lyndaraxa  whisper;  then  Zulema 
goes  out,  and  Lyndaraxa  is  going  after. 

56.      your  plain]    CifiF.      the  plain   SsM. 
59.      baridx]    (iqF.      bondu   .S;;M. 
80.      lonu  ill]   i.inl'\     in  lonij  SsM. 


og  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Ahdal.     Why,  fairest  Lyndaraxa,  do  you  fly  [Staying  her. 

A  prince,  who  at  your  feet  is  proud  to  die? 

Lyndar.     Sir,  I  should  blush  to  own  so  rude  a  thing,  [Staying. 

As  'tis  to  shun  the  brother  of  my  king. 

Ahdal.     In  my  hard   fortune  I  some  ease  should  find, 
Did  your  disdain  extend  to  all  mankind. 
But  give  me  leave  to  grieve,  and  to  complain, 
80  That  you  give  others  what  I  beg  in  vain. 

Lyndar.     Take  my  esteem,  if  you  on  that  can  live; 
For,  frankly,  sir,  'tis  all  I  have  to  give: 
If  from  my  heart  you  ask  or  hope  for  more, 
I  grieve  the  place  is  taken  up  before. 

Ahdal.     My  rival  merits  you. — 
To  Abdelmelech  I  will  justice  do; 
For  he  wants  worth,  who  dares  not  praise  a  foe. 

Lyndar.     That  for  his  virtue,  sir,  you  make  defense, 
Shows  in  your  own  a  noble  confidence. 
100  But  him  defending,  and  excusing  me, 
I  know  not  what  can  your  advantage  be. 

Ahdal.     I  fain  would  ask,  ere  I  proceed  in  this, 
If,  J.S  by  choice,  you  are  by  promise  his? 

Lyndar.     Th'  engagement  only  in  my  love  does  lie. 
But  that's  a  knot  which  you  can  ne'er  untie. 

Ahdal.     When  cities  are  besieg'd,  and  treat  to  yield, 
If  there  appear  relievers  from  the  field. 
The  flag  of  parley  may  be  taken  down 
Till  the  success  of  those  without  be  known. 
110        Lyndar.     Tho'  Abdelmelech  has  not  yet  possess'd, 
Yet  I  have  seal'd  the  treaty  for  my  breast. 

Ahdal.     Your  treaty  has  not  tied  you  to  a  day; 
Some  chance  might  break  it,  would  you  but  delay. 
If  I  can  judge  the  secrets  of  your  heart, 
Ambition  in  it  has  the  greatest  part; 

And  wisdom,  then,  will  shew  some  difference  ^ 

Betwixt  a  private  person  and  a  prince. 

Lyndar.     Princes  are  subjects  still. — 
Subject  and  subject  can  small  diff'rence  bring: 
120  The  diff'rence  is  'twixt  subjects  and  a  king. 

And  since,  sir,  you  are  none,  your  hopes  remove; 
For  less  then  empire  I'll  not  change  my  love. 

Ahdal.     Had  I  a  crown,  all  I  should  prize  in  it, 
Should  be  the  pow'r  to  lay  it  at  your  feet. 

Lyndar.     Had  you  that  crown  which  you  but  wish,  not  hope, 
Then  I,  perhaps,  might  stoop  and  take  it  up. 
But  till  your  wishes  and  your  hopes  agree. 
You  shall  be  still  a  private  man  with  me. 

Ahdal.     If  I  am  king,  and  if  my  brother  die 

109.     6e  known'\   QqF.     is  known  SsM. 

111.     for  my  breast]  QqF.     in  my  breast  SsM. 


} 


PART  I,  ACT  II  29 

130        Lyndar.     Two  if's  scarce  make  one  possibility. 
Abdal.     The  rule  of  happiness  by  reason  scan; 
You  may  be  happy  with  a  private  man. 

Lyndar.     That  happiness  I  may  enjoy,  'tis  true; 
But  then  that  private  man  must  not  be  you. 
Where'er  I  love,  I'm  happy  in  my  choice; 
If  I  make  you  so,  you  shall  pay  my  price. 

Abdal.     Why  would  you  be  so  great? 

Lyndar.  Because  I've  seen, 

This  (lay,  what  'tis  to  hope  to  be  a  queen. 
Heav'n,  how  y'all  watch'd  each  motion  of  her  eye! 
140  None  could  be  seen  while  Almahide  was  by, 
Because  she  is  to  be  Her  Majesty!  — 
Why  would  I  be  a  queen?     Because  my  face 
Would  wear  the  title  with  a  better  grace. 
If  I  became  it  not,  yet  it  would  be 
Part  of  your  duty,  then,  to  flatter  me. 
These  are  not  half  the  charms  of  being  great; 
I  would  be  somewhat — that  I  know  not  yet: 
Yes!    I  avow  th'  ambition  of  my  soul. 
To  be  that  one,  to  live  without  control! 
150  And  that's  another  happiness  to  me, 
To  be  so  happy  as  but  one  can  be. 

Abdal.     Madam, — because  I  would  all  doubts  remove, — 
Would  you,  were  I  a  king,  accept  my  love? 

Lyndar.     1  would   accept   it;   and,   to  show   'tis   true, 
From  any  other  man  as  soon  as  you. 

Abdal.     Your  sharp  replies  make  me  not  love  you  less; 
But  make  me  seek  new  paths  to  happiness. 
What  I  design,  by  time  will  best  be  seen: 
You  may  be  mine,  and  yet  may  be  a  queen. 
160  When  you  are  so,  your  word  your  love  assures. 

Lyndar.     Perhaps  not  love  you — but  I  will  be  yours. — 

[He  offers  to  take  her  hand,  and  kiss  it. 
Stay,  sir,  that  grace  I  cannot  yet  allow: 
Before  you  set  the  crown  upon  my  brow. — 
That  favor  which  you  seek. 
Or  Abdelmelech,  or  a  king,  must  have; 
When  you  are  so,  then  you  may  be  my  slave. 

[Exit;  but  looks  smiling  bach  on  him. 

Abdal.     Howe'er  imperious  in  her  words  she  were, 
Her  parting  looks  had  nothing  of  severe; 
A  glancing  smile  allur'd  me  to  command, 
170  And  her  soft  fingers  gently  press'd  my  hand: 
I  felt  the  pleasure  glide  thro'  every  part; 
Her  hand  went  thro'  me  to  my  very  heart. 
For  such  another  pleasure,  did  he  live, 
I  could  my  father  of  a  crown  deprive. 

146.     tiot  half]  QqF.     but  half  SsM. 


30-  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

What  did  I  say! — 

Father! — That  impious  thought  has  shockM  my  mind: 
How  bold  our  passions  are,  and  yet  how  blind!  — 
She's  gone;  and  now 

Methinks  there  is  less  glory  in  a  crown: 
180  My  boiling  passions  settle,  and  go  down. 

Like  amber  chaf  d,  when  she  is  near,  she  acts; 
When  farther  off,  inclines,  but  not  attracts. 

To  him  ZuLEMA. 

Assist  me,  Zulema,  if  thou  wouldst  be 
That  friend  thou  seem'st,  assist  me  against  me. 
Betwixt  my  love  and  virtue  I  am  toss'd; 
This  must  be  forfeited,  or  that  be  lost. 
I  could  do  much  to  merit  thy  applause; 
Help  me  to  fortify  the  better  cause. 
My  honor  is  not  wholly  put  to  flight, 
190  But  would,  if  seconded,  renew  the  fight. 

Zul.     I  met  my  sister,  but  I  do  not  see 
What  diflSculty  in  your  choice  can  be. 
She  told  me  all;  and  'tis  so  plain  k  case, 
You  need  not  ask  what  counsel  to  embrace. 

Abdal.     I  stand  reprov'd  that  I  did  doubt  at  all; 
My  waiting  virtue  stay'd  but  for  thy  call: 
'Tis  plain  that  she,  who,  for  a  kingdom,  now 
Would  sacrifice  her  love,  and  break  her  vow, 
Not  out  of  love,  but  int'rest,  acts  alone, 
200  And  would,  ev'n  in  my  arms,  lie  thinking  of  a  throne. 

Zul.     Add  to  the  rest  this  one  reflection  more: 
When  she  is  married,  and  you  still  adore. 
Think  then — and  think  what  comfort  it  will  bring — 
She  had  been  mine. 
Had  I  but  only  dar'd  to  be  a  king! 

Abdal.     I  hope  you  only  would  my  honor  try; 
I'm  loth  to  think  you  virtue's  enemy. 

Zul.     If,  when  a  crown  and  mistress  are  in  place, 
Virtue  intrudes  with  her  lean  holy  face, 
210  Virtue   's  then  mine,  and  not  I  virtue 's  foe. 

Why  does  she  come  where  she  has  naught  to  do? 
Let  her  with  anchorites,  not  with  lovers,  lie; 
Statesmen  and  they  keep  better  company. 

Abdal.     Reason  was  giv'n  to  curb  our  headstrong  will. 

Zul.     Eeason  but  shews  a  weak  physician's  skill; 
Gives  nothing,  while  the  raging  fit  does  last; 
But  stays  to  cure  it,  when  the  worst  is  past. 
Reason's  a  staff  for  age,  when  nature's  gone; 
But  youth  is  strong  enough  to  walk  alone. 
220        Abdal.     In  curst  ambition  I  no  rest  should  find, 

212.     anchorites]  Q5F.     anchorit's  Q1Q2Q3.     anchorite's  Q4. 


PART  I,  ACT  II  31 

But  must  for  ever  lose  my  peace  of  mind. 

Zul.     Methinks  that  peace  of  mind  were  bravely  lost; 
A  crown,  whate'er  we  give,  is  worth  the  cost. 

Abdal.     Justice  distributes  to  each  man  his  right; 
But  what  she  gives  not,  should  I  take  by  might? 

Z^ll.     If  justice  will  take  all,  and  nothing  give, 
Justice,  methinks,  is  not  distributive. 

Abdal.     Had  fate  so  pleas'd,  I  had  been  eldest  born, 
And  then,  without  a  crime,  the  crown  had  worn. 
230        Zul.     Would  you  so  please,  fate  yet  a  way  would  find; 
Man  makes  his  fate  according  to  his  mind. 
The  weak  low  spirit  fortune  makes  her  slave; 
But  she's  a  drudge  when  hector'd  by  the  brave: 
If  fate  weaves  common  thrid,  he'll  change  the  doom, 
And  with  new  purple  spread  a  nobler  loom. 

Abdal.     No  more! — I  will  usurp  the  royal  seat; 
Thou,  who  hast  made  me  wicked,  make  me  great. 

Zul.     Your  way  is  plain ;   the  death  of  Tarifa 
Does  on  the  king  our  Zegrys'  hatred  draw: 
240  Tho'  with  our  enemies  in  show  we  close, 
'Tis  but  while  we  to  purpose  can  be  foes. 
Selin,  who  heads  us,  would  revenge  his  son; 
But  favor  hinders  justice  to  be  done. 
Proud  Ozmyn  with  the  king  his  pow'r  maintains, 
And  in  him  each  Abencerrago  reigns. 

Abdal.     What   face  of  any  title  can   I  bring? 

Zul.     The  right  an  eldest  son  has  to  be  king. 
Your  father  was  at  first  a  private  man, 
And  got  your  brother  ere  his  reign  began : 
250  When,  by  his  valor,  he  the  crown  had  won. 
Then  you  were  born,  a  monarch's  eldest  son. 

Abdal.     To  sharp-ey'd  reason  this  would  seem  untrue; 
But  reason  I  thro'  love's  false  optics  view. 

Zul.     Love's  mighty  pow'r  has  led  me  captive  too; 
I  am  in  it  unfortunate  as  you. 

Abdal.     Our  loves  and  fortunes  shall  together  go; 
Thou  shalt  be  happy,  when  I  first  am  so. 

Zul.     The  Zegrys  at  old  Selin's  house  are  met. 
Where,  in  close  council,  for  revenge  they  sit: 
260  There  we  our  common  int'rest  will  unite; 

You  their  revenge  shall  own,  and  they  your  right. 

One  thing  I  had  forgot  which  may  import: 

I  met  Almanzor  coming  back  from  court. 

But  with  a  diseoinpos'd  and  speedy  pace, 

A  fiery  color  kindling  all  his  face: 

The  king  his  pris'ner's  freedom  has  denied, 

And  that  refusal  has  provok'd  his  pride. 

2.'?4.      thrill']  QIQL'Q.S.      thread  QAQ->  SsM.      thnrad  V. 

247.      he  kiiuj]   Q(jK.     be  a  kin<j  SsM.     F  inserts  of  after  ri'jht,  In  the  same 
lioe. 


32  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

AbdaJ.     Would  he  were  ours! — 
I'll  try  to  gild  th'  injustice  of  the  cause, 
270  And  court  his  valor  with  a  vast  applause. 

Zid.     The  bold  are  but  the  instruments  o'  th'  wise; 
Thoy  undertake  the  dangers  we  advise: 
And,  while  our  fabric  with  their,  pains  Ave  raise. 
We  take  the  profit,  and  pay  them  with  praise.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III 

Almanzor,  Abdalla. 

Almam.     That  he  should  dare  to  do  me  this  disgrace! 
Is  fool  or  coward  writ  upon  my  face? 
Eefuse  my  pris'ner! — I  such  means  will  use. 
He  shall  not  have  a  pris'ner  to  refuse. 

Abdal.     He  said  you  were  not  by  your  promise  tied; 
That  he  absolv'd  your  word,  when  ho  denied. 

Almanz.     He  break  my  promise  and  absolve  my  vow! 
'Tis  more  than  Mahomet  himself  can  do! 
The  word  which  I  have  giv'n  shall  stand  like  fate; 
10  Not  like  the  king's,  that  weathercock  of  state. 
He  stands  so  high,  with  so  unfix'd  a  mind, 
Two  factions  turn  him  with  each  blast  of  wind: 
But  now,  he  shall  not  veer!     My  word  is  pass'd; 
I'll  take  his  heart  by  th'  roots,  and  hold  it  fast. 

Abdal.     You  have  your  vengeance  in  your  hand  this  hour; 
Make  me  the  humble  creature  of  your  pow'r: 
TTie  Granadins  will  gladly  me  obey, 
Tir'd  with  so  base  and  impotent  a  sway; 
And,  when  I  shew  my  title,  you  shall  see 
20  I  have  a  better  right  to  reign  tlian  he. 

Almam.     It  is  sufficient  that  you  make  the  claim; 
You  wrong  our  friendship  when  your  right  you  name. 
When  for  myself  I  fight,  I  weigh  the  cause. 
But  friendship  will  admit  of  no  such  laws: 
That  weighs  by  th'  lump;   and,  when  the  cause  is  light, 
Puts  kindness  in  to  set  the  balance  right. 
True,  I  would  wish  my  friend  the  juster  side; 
But,  in  th'  unjust,  my  kindness  more  is  tried: 
And  all  the  opposition  I  can  bring, 
30  Is  that  I  fear  to  make  you  such  a  king. 

Abdal.     The  majesty  of  kings  we  should  not  blame, 
When  royal  minds  adorn  the  ruyal  name; 
The  vulgar,  greatness  too  much  idoUze, 
But  haughty  subjects  it  too  much  despise. 

Almans.     I  only  speak  of  him, 
Whom  pomp  and  greatness  sit  so  loose  about, 


26fl.     Ihe  cause']  QlQ2Qr;Q4.     Jiis  cause  Q5F  SsM. 
13.     pass'd^    past  QqF  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  III  33 


That  he  wants  majesty  to  fill  'em  out. 

Abdal.     Haste,  then,  and  lose  no  time!  — 
The  business  must  be  enterprisM  this  night: 
40  We  must  surprise  the  court  in  its  delight. 

Almanz.     For  you  to  will,  for  me  'tis  to  obey: 
But  I  would  give  a  crown  in  open  day; 
And,  when  the  Spaniards  their  assault  begin, 
At  once  beat  those  without,  and  these  within. 

Enter  Abdelmelech. 


[Exit  Almanz. 


■■} 


Abdeim.     Abdalla,   hold! — There's   somewhat    I   intend 
To  speak,  not  as  your  rival,  but  your  friend. 

Abdal.     If  as  a  friend,  I  am  oblig'd  to  hear; 
And  what  a  rival  says  I  cannot  fear. 

Abdeim.     Think,  brave  Abdalla,  what  it  is  you  do: 
^0  Your  quiet,  honor,  and  our  friendship  too, 
All  for  a  fickle  beauty  you  forego. 
Think,  and  turn  back,  before  it  be  too  late. 
Behold  in  me  th'  example  of  your  fate: 
I  am  your  sea-mark;   and,  tho'  wrack'd  and  lost, 
My  ruins  stand  to  warn  you  from  the  coast. 

Abdal.     Your  counsels,  noble  Abdelmelech,  move 
My  reason  to  accept  'em,  not  my  love. 
Ah,  why  did  heav'n  leave  man  so  weak  defense, 
To  trust  frail  reason  with  the  rule  of  sense! 
60   Tis  overpois'd  and  kick'd  up  in  the  air, 

While  sense  weighs  down  the  scale,  and  keeps  it  there; 

Or,  like  a  captive  king,  'tis  borne  away, 

And  forc'd  to  count'nance  its  own  rebel's  sway. 

Abdeim.     No,  no;   our  reason  was  not  vainly  lent; 
Nor  is  a  slave,  but  by  its  own  consent : 
If  reason  on  his  subject's  triumph  wait. 
An  easy  king  deserves  no  better  fate. 

Abdal.     You  speak  too  late;   my  empire's  lost  too  far: 
I  cannot  fight. 

Abdeim.     Then  make  a  flying  war; 
70  Dislodge  betimes  before  you  are  beset. 

Abdal.     Her  tears,  her  smiles,  her  every  look's  a  net. 
Her  voice  is  like  a  Siren  's  of  the  land ; 
And  bloody  hearts  lie  panting  in  her  hand. 

Abdeim.     This  do  you  know,  and  tempt  the  danger  still? 

Abdal.     Love,  like  a  lethargy,  has  seiz'd  my  will. 
I'm  not  njj'self,  since  from  her  sight  I  went; 
I  lean  my  trunk  that  way,  and  there  stand  bent. 
As  one  who,  in  some  frightful   dream,  would   shun 
His  pressing  foe,  labors  in  vain  to  run;  \ 

80  And  his  own  slowness  in  his  sleep  bemoans, 

-        ■"  " 1.' 

37.     /?» 'cm]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     flU  them  Q5F. 


34  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

With  thick  short  sighs,  weak  cries,  and  tender  groans, 

So  I 

Abdelm.     Some   friend,   in   charity,   should  shake, 

And  rouse,  and  call  you  Joudly  till  you  wake. 
Too  well  I  know  her  blandishments  to  gain, 
Usurper-like,  till  settled  in  her  reign; 
Then  proiully  she  insults,  and  gives  you  cares 
And  jealousies,  short  hopes  and  long  despairs. 
To  this  hard  yoke  you  must  hereafter  bow, 
Howe'er  she  shines  all  golden  to  you  now. 
90        Abdal.     Like  him,  who  on  the  ice 

Slides  swiftly  on,  and  sees  the  water  near. 

Yet  cannot  stop  himself  in  his  career, 

So  am  I  carried.     This  enchanted  place. 

Like  Circe's  isle,  is  peopled  with  a  race 

Of  dogs  and  swine;  yet,  tho'  their  fate  I  know, 

I  look  with  pleasure,  and  am  turning  too. 

[Lyndaraxa  passes  over  the  stage. 

Abdelm.     Fly,  fly,  before  th'  allurements  of  her  face,  "I 
Ere  she  return  with  some  resistless  grace,  > 

And  with  new  magic  covers  all  the  place.  J 

100        Abdal.     I  cannot,  will  not, — nay,  I  would  not  fly: 
I'll  love,  be  blind,  be  cozen'd  till  I  die; 
And  you,  who  bid  me  wiser  counsel  take, 
I'll  hate,  and,  if  I  can,  I'll  kill  you  for  her  sake. 

Abdelm.     Ev'n  I,  that  counsel'd  you,  that  choice  approve: 
I'll  hate  you  blindly,  and  her  blindly  love. 
Prudence,  that  stemm'd  the  stream,  is  out  of  breath; 
And  to  go  down  it  is  the  easier  death. 

[Lyndaraxa  reenters,  and  smiles  on  Abdalla. 

[Exit  Abdalla. 

Abdelm.     That  smile  on  Prince  Abdalla  seems  to  say, 
Tou  are  not  in  your  killing  mood  to-day: 
110  Men  brand,  indeed,  your  sex  with  cruelty. 
But  you're  too  good  to  see  poor  lovers  die. 
This  godlike  pity  in  you  I  extol; 
And  more,  because,  like  heav'n's,  'tis  general. 

Lyndar.     My  smile  implies  not  that  I  grant  his  suit: 
'Twas  but  a  bare  return  of  his  salute. 

Abdelm.     It  said,  you  were  ingag'd,  and  I  in  place; 
But,  to  please  both,  you  would  divide  the  grace. 

Lyndar.     You'ye  cause  to  be  contented  with  your  part, 
"When  he  has  but  the  look,  and  you  the  heart. 
120        Abdelm.     In  giving  but  that  look,  you  give  what's  mine: 
I'll  not  one  corner  of  a  glance  resign. 
All's  mine;  and  I  am  cov 'tous  of  my  store: 
I  have  not  love  enough;   I'll  tax  you  more. 

09.     covers']  QqF.     cover  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  III  35 

Lyndar.     I  gave  not  love;   'twas  but  civility: 
He  is  a  prince;  that's  due  to  his  degree. 

Abdelm.     That  prince  you  smil'd  on  is  my  rival  still, 
And  should,  if  me  you  lov'd,  be  treated  ill. 

Lyndar.     I  know  not  how  to  show  so  rude  a  spite. 

AbdeUn.     That  is,  you  know  not  how  to  love  aright; 
130  Or,  if  you  did,  you  would  more  difference  see 
Betwixt  our  souls,  than  'twixt  our  quality. 

Mark  if  his  birth  makes  any  difference. 
If  to  his  words  it  adds  one  grain  of  sense. 
That  duty  which  his  birth  can  make  his  due 
I'll  pay,  but  it  shall  not  be  paid  by  you: 
For,  if  a  prince  courts  her  whom  I  adore. 
He  is  my  rival,  and  a  prince  no  more. 

Lyndar.     And  when  did  I  my  pow'r  so  far  resign. 
That  you  should  regulate  each  look  of  mine? 
140        Abdchn.     Then,  when  you  gave  your  love,  you  gave  that  pow'r. 

Lyndar.     'Twas  during  pleasure,  'tis  revok'd  this  hour. 
Now  call  me  false,  and  rail  on  womankind, — 
'Tis  all  the  remedy  you're  like  to  find. 

Abdelm.     Yes,  there's  one  more; 
I'll  hate  you,  and  this  visit  is  my  last. 

Lyndar.     Do  't,  if  you  can;  you  know  I  hold  you  fast: 
Yet,  for  your  quiet,  would  you  could  resign 
Your  love,  as  easily  as  I  do  mine! 

Abdelm.     Furies  and  hell,  how  unconcern'd  she  speaks! 
150  With  what  indifference  all  her  vows  she  breaks! 
Curse  on  me,  but  she  smiles! 

Lyndar.     That  smile's  a  part  of  love,  and  all's  your  due: 
I  take  it  from  the  prince,  and  give  it  you. 

Abdelm.     Just  heav'n,  must   my  poor  heart  your  May-game  prove, 
To  bandy,  and  make  children's  play  in  love?  [Half  crying. 

Ah!  how  have  I  this  cruelty  deserv'd? 
I,  who  so  truly  and  so  long  have  serv'd! 
And  left  so  easily!     O  cruel  maid! 
So  easily!     'Twas  too  unkindly  said. 
160  That  heart  which  could  so  easily  remove 
Was  never  fix'd,  nor  rooted  deep  in  love. 

Lyndar.     You  lodg'd  it  so  uneasy  in  your  breast, 
I  thought  you  had  been  weary  of  the  guest. 
First,  I  was  treated  like  a  stranger  there;  "l 

But,  when  a  household  friend  I  did  appear,  > 

You  thought,  it  seems,  I  could  not  live  elsewhere.    J 
Then,  by  degrees,  your  feign'd  respect  witlidrew; 
You  mark'd  my  actions,  and  my  guardian  grew. 
But  I  am  not  concern'd  your  acts  to  blame: 
170  My  heart  to  yours  but  upon  liking  caiuo; 
And,  like  a  bird  whom  prying  boys  molest, 

150.     'Twas]  QqF.     it  was  SsM,  dostroying  tho  motor. 


36  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Stays  not  to  breed  where  she  had  built  her  nest, 

Abdclm.     I  have  done  ill, 
And  dare  not  ask  you  to  be  less  displeas'd; 
Be  but  more  angry,  and  my  pain  is  eas'd. 

Lyndar.     If  I  should  be  so  kind  a  fool,  to  take 
This  little  satisfaction  which  you  make, 
I  know  you  would  presume  some  other  time 
Upon  my  goodness,  and  repeat  your  crime. 
180        Abdelm.     O,  never,  never,  upon  no  pretense! 
My  life's  too  short  to  expiate  this  offense. 

Lyndar.     No,  now  I  think  on  't,  'tis  in  vain  to  try; 
'Tis  in  your  nature,  and  past  remedy. 
You'll  still  disquiet  my  too  loving  heart: 
Now  we  are  friends,   'tis  best  for  both  to  part. 

Abdelm.     [Taling  her  hand.]     By  this — will  you  not  give  me  leave 
to  swear? 

Lyndar.     You  would  be  perjur'd  if  you  should,  I  fear: 
And,  when  I  talk  with  Prince  Abdalla  next, 
I  with  your  fond  suspicions  shall  be  vex'd. 
190        Abdelm.     I  cannot  say  I'll  conquer  jealousy. 
But,  if  you'll  freely  pardon  me,  I'll  try. 

Lyndar.     And,  till  you  that  submissive  servant  prove, 
I  never  can  conclude  you  truly  love. 

To  them,  the  King,  Almahide,  Abenamar,  Esperanza, 
Guards,  Attendants. 

Boob.     Approach,  my  Almahide,  my  charming  fair, 
Blessing  of  peace,  and  recompense  of  war. 
This  night  is  yours;  and  may  your  life  still  be 
The  same  in  joy,  tho'  not  solemnity. 


SONG 

I. 

Beneath  a  myrtle  shade, 
Which  love  for  none  but  happy  lovers  made, 
200  7  slept;  and  straight  my  love  before  me  brought 

Phyllis,  the  object  of  my  waking  thought. 
ZJndress'd  she  came  my  flames  to  meet. 
While  love  strow'd  fl^w'rs  beneath  her  feet; 
Flow'rs  xvhich,  so  pressed  by  her,  became  more  sweet. 

n. 

From  the  bright  vision's  head 
A  careless  veil  of  lawn  was  loosely  spread: 

SONG]  In  Ql  this  song  is  printed  after  the  epilogue,  with  the  warning 
"misplac'd.  sung  at  the  dance  or  zambra  in  the  third  act."  It  appears  here 
In  Q2Q3Q4Q5F. 


PART  I,  ACT  III  37 

From  her  white  temples  fell  her  shaded  hair. 
Like  cloudy  sunshine,  not  too  brown  nor  fair; 
Her  hands,  her  lips,  did  love  inspire; 
210  Her  every  grace  my  heart  did  fire: 

But  most  her  eyes,  which  languish'd  with  desire. 

III. 

"Ah,  charming  fair,''  said  I, 
"How  long  can  you  my  bliss  and  yours  deny? 
By  nature  and  by  love  this  lonely  shade 
Was  for  revenge  of  suff'ring  lovers  made. 
Silence  and  shades  with  love  agree; 
Both  shelter  you  and  favor  me: 
You  cannot  blush,  because  I  cannot  see." 

IV. 

"No,  let  me  die,"  she  said, 
220  "Mather  than  lose  the  spotless  name  of  maid!" 

Faintly,  methought,  she  spoke;  for  all  the  ivhile 
She  bid  me  not  believe  her,  with  a  smile. 
"Then  die,"  said  I:  she  still  denied; 
"And  is  it  thus,  thus,  thus,"  she  cried, 
"You  use  a  harmless  maid?" — and  so  she  died! 

V. 

I  tvak'd,  and  straight  I  knew, 
I  lov'd  so  well,  it  made  my  dream  prove  true: 
Fancy,  the  kinder  mistress  of  the  two. 
Fancy  had  done  what  FliylUs  would  not  do! 
2gQ  Ah,  cruel  nymph,  cease  your  disdain; 

While  I  can  dream,  you  scorn  in  vain, — 
Asleep  or  waking,  you  must  ease  my  pain. 

THE  ZAMBRA  DANCE 
[After  the  dance,  a  tumultuous  noise  of  drums  and  trumpets. 
To  them,  Ozmyn;  Tits  sword  drawn. 
Ozm.     Arm,  quickly,  arm;  yet  all,  I  fear,  too  late; 
The  enemy's  already  at  the  gate. 

Boab.     The  Christians  are  dislodg'd;  what  foe  is  near? 
Ozm,     The  Zegrys  are  in  arms,  and  almost  here: 
The  streets  with  torches  shine,  with  shoutings  ring. 
And  Prince  Abdalla  is  proclaim'd  the  king. 
What  man  could  do,  I  have  already  done, 
240  But  bold  Almanzor  fiercely  leads  'em  on. 

Aben.     Th'  Alhambra  yet  is  safe  in  my  command;         [To  the  King. 
Retreat  you  thither,  while  their  shock  we  stand. 
Boab.     I  cannot  meanly  for  my  life  provide; 
111  either  perish  in  't,  or  stem  this  tide. 

The  Zambia  Dnnc(]    Thin  stage  direction  appears  before  the  song  in  Q4Q5F 
SsM.     The  text  follows  giiQ.J. 

241.     Th'  Alhambra]   gq.     The  Alhambra  l\ 


38  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

To  guard  the  palace,  Ozmyn,  be  your  care: 
If  they  o'creome,  no  sword  will  hurt  the  fair. 

0cm.     I'll  cither  die,  or  I'll  make  good  the  place. 

Abdclm.     And  I  with  these  will  bold  Almanzor  face. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Ladies.     An  alarm  within. 

Ahnah.     "What  dismal  planet  did  my  triumphs  light! 
250  Discord  the  day,  and  death  does  rule  the  night : 
The  noise  my  soul  does  thro'  my  senses  wound. 

Lyndar.     Methinks  it  is  a  noble,  sprightly  sound, 
The  trumpet's  clangor,  and  the  clash  of  arms! 
This  noise  may  chill  your  blood,  but  mine  it  warms. 

[Shouting  a7id  clashing  of  stvords  ivithin. 
We  have  already  pass'd  the  Rubicon; 
The  dice  are  mine;  now,  fortune,  for  a  throne! 

[A  shout  within,  and  clashing  of  swords  afar  off. 
The  sound  goes  farther  off,  and  faintly  dies; 
Curse  of  this  going  back,  these  ebbing  cries! 
Ye  winds,  Avuft  hither  sounds  more  strong  and  quick; 
260  Beat  faster,  drums,  and  mingle  deaths  more  thick. 
I  '11  to  the  turrets  of  the  palace  go. 
And  add  new  fire  to  those  that  fight  below: 
Thence,  Hero-like,  with  torches  by  my  side 
(Far  be  the  omen,  tho'),  my  love  I'll  guide. 
No;  like  his  better  fortune  I'll  appear,  "| 

"With  open  arms,  loose  veil,  and  flowing  hair,      j^ 
Just  flying  forward   from  my  rolling  sphere:  J 
My  smiles  shall  make  Abdalla  more  then  man; 

Let  him  look  up,  and  perish  if  he  can.  [Exit. 

An  alarm  nearer:  then  enter  Almanzor  and  Selin, 
in  the  head  of  the  Zegrys;  Ozmyn  Prisoner. 
270        Almanz.     We  have  not  fought  enough;  they  fly  too  soon; 
And  I  am  griev'd  the  noble  sport  is  done. 

This  only  man,  of  all  whom  chance  did  bring  [Pointing  to  Ozmyn. 

To  meet  my  arms,  was  worth  the  conquering. 
His  brave  resistance  did  my  fortune  grace; 
So  slow,  so  threat'ning  forward,  he  gave  place. 
His  chains  be  easy,  and  his  usage  fair. 

Selin.     I  beg  you  would  commit  him  to  my  care. 

Almanz.     Next,  the  brave  Spaniard   free  without   delay; 
And  with  a  convoy  send  him  safe  away.  [Exit  a  Guard. 

* 

To  them  Hamet  and  others. 

280        Eamet.     The  king  by  me  salutes  you;  and,  to  show 
That  to  your  valor  he  his  crown  does  owe. 
Would  from  your  mouth  I  should  the  word  receive, 
And  that  to  these  you  would  your  orders  give. 

Almanz.     He  much  o'errates  the  little  I  have  done. 

264.     I'll  guidc'\    QqF.      tcill   guide  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  III  39 

[Almanzor  goes  to  the  door,  and  there  seems  to  giv« 
out  orders,  by  sending  people  several  ways. 

Selin.  [to  Ozmyn.]    Now,  to  revenge  the  murder  of  my  son, 
To-morrow  for  thy  certain  death  prepare; 
This  night  1  only  leave  thee  to  despair. 

Ozmyn.     Thy  idle  menaces  I  do  not  fear: 
My  business  was  to  die  or  conquer  here. 
290  Sister,  for  you  I  grieve  I  could  no  more: 
My  present  state  betrays  my  want  of  pow'r; 
But,  when  true  courage  is  of  force  bereft, 
Patience,  the  noblest  fortitude,  is  left.  [Exit  cum  Selin. 

Almah.     Ah,  Esperanza,  what  for  me  remains 
But  death,  or,  worse  than  death,  inglorious  chains! 

Esper.     Madam,  you  must  not  to  despair  give  place; 
Heav'n  never  meant  misfortune  to  that   face. 
Suppose  there  were  no  justice  in  your  cause, 
Beauty's  a  bribe  that  gives  her  judges  laws. 
300  That  you  are  brought  to  this  <leplor'd  estate, 
Is  but  th'  ingenious  flatt'ry  of  your  fate; 
Fate  fears  her  succor  like  an  alms  to  give; 
And  would  you,  God-like,  from  yourself  should  live. 

Almah.     Mark  but  how  terrible  his  eyes  appear! 
And  yet  there's  something  roughly  noble  there, 
Which,  in  unfashion'd  nature,  looks  divine, 
And,  like  a  gem,  does  in  the  quarry  shine. 

[Almanzor  returns;  she  falls  at  his  feet,  being  veiVd. 

Abnah.     Turn,  mighty  eonqu'ror,  turn  your  face  this  way, 
Do  not  refuse  to  hear  the  wretched  pray! 
310         Almanz.     What  business  can  this  woman  have  with  me? 

Almah.     That  of  th'  afflicted  to  the  Deity. 
So  may  your  arms  success  in  battles  find; 
So  may  the  mistress  of  your  vows  be  kind. 
If  you  have  any;  or,  if  you  have  none. 
So  may  your  liberty  be  still  your  own! 

Almanz.     Yes,  I  will  turn  my  face,  but  not  my  mind: 
You  bane  and  soft  destruction  of  mankind. 
What  would  you  have  with  me? 

Almah.  I  beg  the  grace  [Unveiling. 

You  would  lay  by  those  terrors  of  your  face. 
320  Till  calmness  to  your  eyes  you  first  restore, 
I  am  afraid,  and  I  can  beg  no  more. 

Almanz.   [Looking  fixedly  on  her.]    Well;  my  fierce  visage  shall  not 
murder  you. 
Speak  quickly,  woman;   I  have  much  to  do. 

Almah.     Where  should  I  find  the  heart  to  speak  one  wordt 
Your  voice,  sir,  is  as  killing  as  your  sword. 


203.     the  noblest]    QlQliQ.?Q4.      the  only  Q5F  SsM. 
304.      ierribh]    QtiF.      terribly    SsM. 
311i.     lattlcn]   OqF.     battle  SsM. 


40  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

As  you  have  left  the  lightning  of  your  eye, 
So  would  you  please  to  lay  your  thunder  by. 

Almam.     I'm  pleas'd  and  pain'd,  since  first  her  eyes  I  saw^ 
As  I  were  stung  with  some  tarantula. 
330  Arms,  and  the  dusty  field,  I  less  admire, 
And  soften  strangely  in  some  new  desire; 
Honor  burns  in  me,  not  so  fiercely  bright. 
But  pale,  as  fires  when  master'd  by  the  light: 
Ev'n  while  I  speak  and  look,  I  change  yet  more, 
And  now  am  nothing  that  I  was  before. 
I'm  numb'd,  and  fix'd,  and  scarce  my  eyeballs  move: 
I  fear  it  is  the  lethargy  of  love ! 
'Tis  he;   I  feel  him  now  in  every  part: 
Like  a  new  lord  he  vaunts  about  my  heart; 
340  Surveys,  in  state,  each  corner  of  my  breast. 
While  poor  fierce  I,  that  was,  am  dispossess'd; 
I'm  bound;   but   I  will  rouse  my  rage  again;  ^ 
And,  tho'  no  hope  of  liberty  remain,  > 

I'll  fright  my  keeper  when  I  shake  my  chain.  J 
You  are [Angrily. 

Almah.     I  know   I  am  your  captive,  sir. 

Almanz.     You  are — You  shall — And  I  can  scarce  forbear 

Almah.     Alas! 

Almans.  'Tis  all  in  vain;  it  will  not  do:  \^Aside. 

I  cannot  now  a  seeming  anger  show: 
My  tongue  against  my  heart  no  aid  affords; 
350  For  love  still  rises  up,  and  chokes  my  words. 

Almah.     In  half  this  time  a  tempest  would  be  still. 

Almanz.     "Tis  you  have  rais'd  that  tempest  in  my  will. 
I  wonnot  love  you;  give  me  back  my  heart; 
But  give  it,  as  you  had  it,  fierce  and  brave. 
It  was  not  made  to  be  a  woman 's  slave. 
But,  lion-like,  has  been  in  desarts  bred. 
And,  us'd  to  range,  will  ne'er  be  tamely  led. 
Restore  its  freedom  to  my  fetter'd  will, 
And  then  I  shall  have  pow'r  to  use  you  ill. 
360         Almah.     My  sad  condition  may  your  pity  move; 

But  look  not  on  me  with  the  eyes  of  love. 

I  must  be  brief,  tho'  I  have  much  to  say. 

Almanz.     No,  speak;   for  I  can  hear  you  now  all  day. 
Ilcr  suing  soothes  me  with  a  secret  pride:  [Softly. 

A  suppliant  beauty  cannot  be  denied.  [Aside. 

Ev'n  while  I  frown,  her  charms  the  furrows  seize; 
And  I'm  corrupted  with  the  pow'r  to  please. 

Almah.     Tho'  in  your  worth  no  cause  of  fear  I  see, 
I  fear  the  insolence  of  victory; 
370  As  you  are  noble,  sir,  protect  me  then 
From  the  rude  outrage  of  insulting  men. 

336.     numb'dl  nnmm'd  QlQ2Qr,Q4.     munrd  Q.IF. 


PART  I,  ACT  III  41 

Ahnanz.     Who  dares  touch  her  I  love?     I'm  all  o'er  love: 
Nay,  I  am  Love;  Love  shot,  and  shot  so  fast, 
He  shot  himself  into  my  breast  at  last. 

Almah.     You  see  before  you  her  who  should  be  queen, 
Since  she  is  promis'd  to  Boabdelin. 

Almanz.     Are  you  belov'd  by  him?     O  wretched  fate 
First  that  I  love  at  all;  then,  love  too  late! 
Yet,  I  must  love! 

Almah.     Alas,  it  is  in  vain; 
380  Fate  for  each  other  did  not  us  ordaiu. 
The  chances  of  this  day  too  clearly  show 
That  heav'n  took  care  that  it  should  not  be  so. 

Almam.     Would  heav'n  had  quite  forgot  me  this  one  day! 

But  fate  's  yet  hot 

I  'II  m.ake  it  take  a  bent  another  way. 

[He  walks  swiftly  and  discomposedly,  studying 
I  bring  a  claim  which  does  his  right  remove; 
You're  his  by  promise,  but  you're  mine   by  love. 
'Tis  all  but  ceremony  which  is  past; 
The  knot 's  to  tie  which  is  to  make  you  fast. 
390  Fate  gave  not   to  Boabdelin  that   pow'r; 
He  woo'd  you  but  as  my  andiassador. 

Almah.     Our  souls  are  tied  by  holy  vows  above. 
Almanz.     He  signM  but  his;   but  I  will  seal  my  lovo. 
I  love  you  better,  with   more  zeal  then  he. 

Almah.     This  day 
I  gave  my  faith  to  him,  he  his  to  me. 

Almanz.     Good   heav'n,  thy  book  of  fate  before  me  lay, 
But  to  tear  out  tlio  jonrnai  of  this  day: 
Or,  if  the  order  of  the  world  below  "i 

400  Will  not  the  gap  of  one  whole  day  alloAV,  > 

Give  me  that  minute  when  she  made  her  vow !  J 
"Tliat  minute,  ev'n  the  happy  from  their  bliss  might  give; 
"And  those,  who  live  in  grief,  a  shorter  time  would  live. 
So  small  a  link,  if  broke,  th'  eternal  chain 
Would,   like  divided  waters,   join  again. — 
It  wonnot   be;   the  fugitive  is  gone, 
Press'd   by  the  crowd   of  following  minutes  on: 
That  precious  moment's  out  of  nature  fled,  ^ 

And  in  tlie  heap  of  common  rubbish  laid,  > 

410  Of  things  tiiat  once  have  been,  and  are  decay'd.  J 

Almah.     Your  passion,  like  a  fright,  suspends  my  pain; 
It  meets,  o'erpow'rs,  and  bears  mine  back  again: 
But  as,  when  tides  against  the  current  flow. 
The  native  stream  runs  its  own  course  below. 
So,  tho'  your  griefs  possess  the  upper  part. 
My  own  have  deeper  channels  in  my  heart. 

■ilH.     love  too  late]    QlQ2(j:{.     lorcil   fiw   late  Q4Q5F  SsM. 
401!.   40;{.      SsM   omit   (jiiotos,   found    in  QqF. 
412.      bcars2  QIQ-'Q.J.     beats  QUi'tl''  SsM. 


42  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Almanz.     Forgive  that  fury  which  my  soul  docs  move; 
'Tis  the  essay  of  an  untaught  first  love. 
Yet  rude,  unfasliion'd  truth  it  does  express; 
420  -Tis  love  just  peeping  in  a  hasty  dress. 
Retire,  fair  creature,  to  your  needful  rest; 
There's  something  noble  lab'ring  in  my  breast: 
This  raging  fire  which  thro'  the  mass  does  move 
Shall  purge  my  dross,  and  shall  refine  my  love. 

[Exeunt  Almahide  and  Espeeanza. 
She  goes,  and  I  like  my  own  ghost  appear; 
It  is  not  living  when  she  is  not  here. 

To  him  Abdalla  as  King,  attended. 

Abdal.     My  first  acknowledgments  to  heav'n  are  due; 
My  next,  Almanzor,  let  me  pay  to  you. 

Almanz.     A  poor  surprise,  and  on  a  naked  foe, 
430  Whatever  you  confess,  is  all  you  owe; 
And  I  no  merit  own,  or  understand 
That  fortune  did  you  justice  by  my  hand: 
Yet,  if  you  will  that  little  service  pay 
With  a  great  favor,  I  can  shew  the  way. 

Abdal.     I  have  a  favor  to  demand  of  you; 
That  is,  to  take  the  thing  for  which  you  sue. 

Almanz.     Then,  briefly,  thus:    when  I  th'  Albayzin  won, 
I  found  the  beauteous  Almahide  alone, 
Whose  sad  condition  did  my  pity  move; 
440  And  that  compassion  did  produce  my  love. 

Abdal.     This  needs  no  suit;  in  justice,  I  declare, 
She  is  your  captive  by  the  right  of  war. 

Almanz.     She  is  no  captive  then;  I  set  her  free;  ^ 
And,  rather  then  I  will  her  jailer  be,  V 

I'll  nobly  lose  her  in  her  liberty.  J 

Abdal.     Your  generosity  I  much  approve; 
But  your  excess  of  that  shows  want  of  love. 

Almanz.     No,  'tis  th'  excess  of  love,  which  mounts  so  high 
That,  seen  far  off,  it  lessens  to  the  eye. 
450  Had  I  not  lov'd  her,  and  had  set  her  free, 
That,  sir,  had  been  my  generosity; 
But  'tis  exalted  passion,  when  I  show 
I  dare  be  wretched,  not  to  make  her  so. 
And,  while  another  passion  fills  her  breast, 
I'll  be  all  wretched  rather  then  half  blest. 

Abdal.     May  your  heroic  act  so  prosperous  be, 
That  Almahide  may  sigh  you  set  her  free. 

Enter  Zulema. 
Zul.     Of  five  tall  tow  'rs  which  fortify  this  town, 


444      th€n^   Q1Q2.     than  Q3Q4Q5F.     Similar  variants  occur  elsewherp.  but 
are  not  recorded  here  ;  the  spelling  then  seems  most  frequent  in  Ql  and  Q2. 
445.      lose]    Q2Q3Q4.     loose  Q1Q5F. 


PAKT  I,  ACT  III  43 

All  but  th'  Alhambra  your  dominion  own: 
460  Now,  therefore,  boldly  I  confess  a  flame, 
Which  is  excus'd  in  Almahida's  name. 
If  you  the  merit  of  this  night  regard, 
In  her  possession  I  have  my  reward. 

Almanz.     She  your  reward!     Why,  she's  a  gift  so  great, 
That  I  myself  have  not  deservM  her  yet; 
And  therefore,  tho'  I  won  her  with  my  sword, 
I  have,  with  awe,  my  sacrilege  restor'd. 

Zul.     What  you  deserve 
I'll  not  dispute,  because  I  do  not  know; 
470  This  only  I  will  say,  she  shall  not  go. 

Almam.     Thou,  single,  art  not  worth  my  answering: 
But  take  what  friends,  what  armies  thou  canst  bring; 
What  worlds;  and,  when  you  are  united  all, 
Then  I  will  thunder  in  your  ears:    ''She  shall!" 

Zul.     I'll  not  one  tittle  of  my  right  resign. 
Sir,  your  implicit  promise  made  her  mine; 
When  I  in  general  terms  my  love  did  show, 
You  swore  our  fortunes  should  together  go. 

Abdal.     The  merits  of  the  cause  I'll  not  decide, 
480  But,  like  my  love,  I  would  my  gift  divide. 
Your  equal  titles,  then,  no  longer  plead; 
But  one  of  you,  for  love  of  me,  recede. 

Almanz.     I  have  receded  to  the  utmost  line, 
When,  by  my  free  consent,  she  is  not  mine: 
Then  let  him  equally  recede  with  me, 
And  both  of  us  will  join  to  set  her  free. 

Zul.     If  you  will  free  your  part  of  her,  you  may; 
But,  sir,  I  love  not  your  romantic  way. 
Dream  on,  enjoy  her  soul,  and  set  that  free; 
490  I'm  pleas"d  her  person  should  be  left  for  me. 

AUnanz.     Thou  shalt  not  wish  her  thine;  thou  shalt  not  dare 
To  be  so  impudent  as  to  despair. 

Zul.     The  Zegrys,  sir,  are  all  eoncern'd  to  see 
How  much  their  merit  you  neglect  in  me. 

Hamet.     Your  slighting  Zulema  this  very  hour 
Will  take  ten  thousand  subjects  from  your  pow 'r. 

Almanz.     What  are  ten  thousand   subjects  such  as  they? 
If  I  am  scorn'd — I'll  take  myself  away. 

Abdal.     Since  both  cannot  possess  what  both  pursue, 
500  I  grieve,  my  friend,  the  chance  should  fall  on  you; 
But  when  you  hear  what  reasons  I  can  urge 

Almanz.     None,  none  that  your  ingratitude  can  purge. 
Reason's  a  trick,  when  it  no  grant  affords; 
It  stamps  the  face  of  majesty  on  words. 

Abdal.     Your  boldness  to  your  services  I  give: 

461.     Almahida's]   So  printed  in  QqF  wherever  a  word  of  four  syllables  la 
required  by  the  motor;  Ss.M  print  uniformly  Alnialiidf. 
474.      /    lti//J    QqF.      will   I    Ss.M. 


44  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Now  take  it,  as  your  full  reward— to  live. 

Almaiiz.     To  live! 
If  from  thy  hands  alone  my  death  can  be, 
I  am  immortal,  and  a  god,  to  thee. 
510  If  I  would  kill  thee  now,  thy  fate's  so  low. 
That  1  must  stoop  ere  I  can  give  the  blow: 
But  mine  is  fix'd  so  far  above  thy  crown. 
That  all  thy  men, 

Pil'd  on  thy  back,  can  never  pull  it  down. 
But  at  my  ease  thy  destiny  I  send, 
By  ceasing  from  this  hour  to  be  thy  friend. 
Like  heav'n,  I  need  but  only  to  stand  still, 
And,  not  concurring  to  thy  life,  I  kill. 
Thou  canst  no  title  to  my  duty  bring; 
520  I'm  not  thy  subject,  and  my  soul's  thy  king. 
Farewell.     When  I  am  gone. 

There's  not  a  star  of  thine  dare  stay  with  thee: 
I'll  whistle  thy  tame  fortune  after  me; 
And  whirl  fate  with  me  wheresoe'er  I  fly, 
As  winds  drive  storms  before  'em  in  the  sky.  [Exit. 

Zul.     Let  not  this  insolent  impunish'd  go; 
Give  your  commands;   your  justice  is  too  slow. 

[ZuLEMA,  Hamet,  and  others  are  going  after  Mm. 

Abdal.     Stay,  and  what  part  he  pleases  let  him  take: 
I  know  my  throne's  too  strong  for  him  to  shake. 
530  But  my  fair  mistress  I  too  long  forget; 
The  crown  I  promis'd  is  not  offer'd  yet. 
Without  her  presence  all  my  joys  are  vain. 
Empire  a  curse,  and  life  itself  a  pain.  [Exeunt. 

ACT   IV.     SCENE   I. 
BoABDELiN,   Abenamar,   Guards. 

Boob.     Advise,  or  aid,  but   do   not  pity  me: 
No  monarch  born  can  fall  to  that  degree. 
Pity  descends  from  kings  to  all  below; 
But  can,  no  more  then  fountains,  upward  flow. 
Witness   just   heav'n,   my   greatest   grief   has   been, 
I  could  not  make  your  Almahide  a  queen. 

Ahen.     I  have  too  long  th'  effects  of  fortune  known, 
Either  to  trust  her  smiles,  or  fear  her  frown. 
Since  in  their  first  attempt  you  were  not  slain, 
10  Your  safety  bodes  you   yet  a   second  reign. 
The  people  like  a  headlong  torrent  go. 
And  every  dam  they  break,  or  overflow; 
But,   unoppos'd,   they   either   lose   their   force, 
Or  wind  in  volumes  to  their  former  course. 


508.     thy  hands]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     my  hands  QoF. 
518.     concurring  to]  QqF.     concurring  in  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT   IV,  SCENE  I  45 

Boah.      In   Malls   we   meanly   must    our   hopes   inclose, 
To  wait  our   friends,  and   weary  out  our  foes: 
While  Almahide 

To  lawless  rebels  is  expos'd  a  prey, 
And  forc'd  the  lustful  victor  to  obey. 
20        Aben.     One  of  my  blood,  in  rules  of  virtue  bred! 
Think  better  of   her,  and   believe   she's   dead. 

To  them  Almanzor. 
Boab.     We  are  betray'd,  the  enemy  is  here; 

We  have  no  farther  room  to  hope  or  fear. 

Almans.     It  is  indeed  Almanzor  whom  you  see, 

But  he  no  longer  is  your  enemy. 

You  were  ungrateful,  but  your  foes  were  more; 

What  your  injustice  lost  you,  theirs  restore. 

Make  profit  of  my  vengeance  while  you  may; 

My   two-edg'd   sword   can   cut   the   other  way. — 
30  I   am   your   fortune,  but  am   swift   like  her. 

And  turn  my  hairy  front  if  you  defer: 

That  hour  when  you  delib'rate,  is  too   late; 

I  point  you  the  Avhite  moment  of  your  fate. 

Abcn.     Believe  him  sent  as  Prince  Abdalla's  sjiy; 

He  would  betray  us  to  the  enemy. 

Almans.     Were  I,  like  thee,  in  cheats  of  state  grown  old  "| 

(Those  public  markets,  where  for  foreign  gold  > 

The   poorer  prince  is   to  the  richer  sold),  J 

Then   thou   mightst   think   me   fit    for  that   low  part; 
40  But   I  am  yet  to  learn  the  statesman's  art. 

My  kindness  and  my  hate  unmask'd  I  wear; 

For  friends  to   trust,  and  enemies  to  fear. 

My  heart's  so  plain 

That  men  on  every  passing  thought  may  look. 

Like  fishes  gliding  in  a  crystal  brook; 

When  troubled  most,  it  does  the  bottom  show; 

'Tis  weedless  all  above,  and  rockless  all  below. 

Abcn.     Ere  he  be  trusted,  let  him  first  be  tried; 

He  may  be  false,  who  once  has  chang'd  his  side. 
50        Ahnanz.     In   that  you   more  accuse  yourselves   than   me; 

None  Mho  are  injur'd  can  unconstant  be. 

You  Mere  unconstant,  you.  Mho  did  the  Mrong; 

To  do  me  justice  does  to  me  belong. 

Great  souls  by  kindness  only  can  be  tied; 

Injur'd  again,  again  I'll  leave  your  side. 

Honor  is  what  myself,  and  friends,  I  owe; 

And  none  can  lose  it  Mho  forsake  a  foe. 

Since,   then,  your   foes   noM-   happen   to   be   mine. 

21.  and  hrlierr-]    Q4Q."F.      and  I   hclievc  Q1Q2.     /  believe  Q3, 

;57.  irhcrc]    (y.\()4l\      irc/c   (,>1U2(  ».".. 

44.  thounht]    Uigi'Q.'J.      thuu<)h    g4Q5.      IliroiKjh    F. 

48.  first]   yH22g;i(j4.     then  g5r. 


46  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Tho'  not  in  friendship,  y>(i'U  in  int'rest  join: 
60  So  while  my  lov'd  revenge  is  full  and  high, 

I'll  give  you  back  your  kingdom  by  the  by. 

Boab.     [Embracing  him.]     That  I  so  long  delay'd  what  you  desire, 

Was  not  to  doubt  your  worth,  but  to  admire. 

Almanz.     This  counselor  an  old  man's  caution  shows,    ^ 

Who  fears  that  little  he  has  left  to  lose:  V 

Age  sets  to  fortune;  while  youth  boldly  throws.  J 

But  let  us  first  your  drooping  soldiers  cheer; 

Then  seek  out  danger,  ere  it  dare  appear: 

This  hour  I  fix  your  crown  upon  your  brow; 
70  Next  hour  fate  gives  it,  but  I  give  it   now.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II 

Lyndaraxa  alone. 

Lyndar.     O  could  I  read  the  dark  decrees  of  fate, 
That  I  might  once  know  whom  to  love,  or  hate! 
For  I  myself  scarce  my  own  thoughts  can  guess, 
So  much  I  find  'em  varied  by  success. 
As  in  some  weatherglass  my  love  I  hold ; 
Which  falls  or  rises  with  the  heat  or  cold. 
I  will  be  constant  yet,  if  fortune  can; 
I  love  the  King; — let  her  but  name  the  man. 

To  her  Halyma. 

Hal.     Madam,  a  gentleman,  to  me  unknown,     • 
10  Desires  that  he  may  speak  with  you  alone. 

Lyndar.     Some  message  from  the  king.     Let  him  appear. 

To  her  Abdelmelech  ;  who  ent  'ring  throws  off  his  disguise. 

She  starts. 

Abdelm.     I  see  you  are  amaz'd  that  I  am  here: 
But  let  at  once  your  fear  and  wonder  end. 
In  the  usurper's  guard  I  found  a  friend. 
Who  led  me  to  you  safe  in  this  disguise. 

Lyndar.     Your  danger  brings  this  trouble  in  my  eyes. 
But  what  affair  this  vent'rous  visit  drew? 

Abdelm.     The  greatest  in  the  world;  the  seeing  you. 

Lyndar.    The  courage  of  your  love  I  so  admire 
20  That,  to  preserve  you,  you  shall  straight  retire. 

[She  leads  him,  to  the  door. 
Go,  dearl  each  minute  does  new  dangers  bring; 
You  will  be  taken ;  I  expect  the  king. 

Abdelm.     The  king! — the  poor  usurper  of  an  hour: 
His  empire's  but  a  dream  of  kingly  pow'r. 


66      sets  to  fortunel   Q1Q2Q3.     sets  fortune  Q4Q5F.     sets  a  fortune. 

4!     find  'em]    Q1Q2Q3Q4.     find  them   Q.^.F. 
14.     guards   QqF.     guards  SsM. 


PAET  I,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  47 

I  warn  you,  as  a  lover  and  a  friend, 
To  leave  him  ere  his  short  dominion  end: 
The  soldier  I  suborn'd  will  wait  at  night, 
And  shall  alone  be  conscious  of  your  flight. 

Lyndar.     1  thank  you  that  you  so  much  care  bestow; 
80  But,  if  his  reign  be  short,  I  need  not  go. 
For  why  should  1  expose  my  life  and  yours 
For  what,  you  say,  a  little  time  assures? 

Abdelm.     My  danger  in  th'  attempt  is  very  small; 
And,  if  he  loves  you,  yours  is  none  at  all. 
But,  tho'  his  ruin  be  as  sure  as  fate. 
Your  proof  of  love  to  me  would  come  too  late. 
This  trial  I  in  kindness  would  allow: 
'Tis  easy;  if  you  love  me,  show  it  now. 

Lyndar.     It  is  because  I  love  you,  I  refuse; 
40  For  all   the  world   my  conduct   would  accuse. 
If  I  should  go  with  him   I  love  away: 
And,  therefore,  in  strict  virtue,  I  will  stay. 

Abdelm.     You  would  in  vain  dissemble  love  to  me; 
Thro'  that  thin  veil  your  artifice  I  see. 
You  would  expect  th'  event,  and  then  declare; 
But  do  not,  do  not  drive  me  to  despair: 
For,  if  you  now  refuse  with  me  to  fly, 
Eathcr  then  love  you  after  this,  I'll  die; 
And  therefore  weigh  it  well  before  you  speak; 
50  My  king  is  safe,  his  force  within  not  weak. 

Lyndar.     The  counsel  you  have  giv'n  me  may  be  wuse; 
But,  since   th'  affair  is  great,  I  will  advise. 

Abdelm.     Then  that  delay  I  for  denial  take.  [7s  going. 

Lyndar.     Stay;  you  too  swift  an  exposition  make. 
If  I  should  go,  since  Zulema  will  stay, 
I  should  my  brother  to  the  king  betray. 

Abdelm.     There  is  no  fear;  but,  if  there  were,  I  see 
You  value  still  your  brother  more  than  me. 
Farewell!    Some  ease  I  in  your  falsehood  find; 
60  It  lots  a  beam  in  that  will  clear  my  mind: 
My  former  weakness  I  with  shame  confess, 
And,  when  I  see  you  next,  shall  love  you  less.  \T.<<  goinq  again. 

Lyndar.     Your  faithless  dealing  you  may  blush  to  tell;        [TVeeping. 
This  is  a  maid's  reward,  who  loves  too  well. —  [He  looks  baeJc. 

Kemember  that  I  drew  my  latest  breath 
In  charging  your  unkindness  with  my  death. 

Abdelm.     [Coming  bad:]     Have  I  not  answer 'd  all  you  can  invent, 
Ev'n  the  least   shadow   of  an   argument? 

Lyndar.     You  want  not  cunning  what  you  please  to  prove, 
70  But  my  poor  heart  knows  only  how  to  love; 
And,  finding  this,  you  tyrannize  the  more: 
'Tis  plain,   some   other   mistress   you   adore; 

G3.     dcalini/]   Q1Q2Q3.     dcaliiuja  Q4Qr)F  SsM. 


48  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

And  now,  with  studied  tricks  of  siibtilty, 

You  come   prepar'd  to   lay   the  fault   on   me.  [Wringing   her  hands. 

But,  O,  that  I  should  love  so  false  a  man! 

Abdelm.     Hear  me,  and  then  disprove  it,  if  you  can. 

Lyndar.     I'll  hear  no  more;  your  breach  of  faith  is  plain: 
You  would  with  wit  your  want  of  love  maintain. 
But,  by  my  own  experience,  I  can  tell, 
80  They  who  love  truly  cannot  argue  well. 
Go,   faithless  man! 

Leave  me  alone  to  mourn  my  misery; 
I  cannot  cease  to  love  you,  but  I'll  die.     [Leans  her  head  on  his  arm. 

Abdelm.     [Weeping.^     What  man  but  I  so  long  unmov'd  could  hear 
Such  tender  passion,  and  refuse  a  tear! 
But  do  not  talk  of  dying  any  more, 
Unless  you  mean  that  I  should  die  before. 

Lyndar.     I  fear  your  f eign 'd  repentance  comes  too  late; 
I  die,  to  see  you  still  thus  obstinate: 
90  But  yet,  in  death  my  truth  of  love  to  show, 
Lead  me;   if  I  have  strength  enough,  I'll  go. 

Abdelm.     By  heav'n,  you  shall  not  go!   I  will  not  be 
O'crcome  in  love  or  generosity. 
All  I  desire,  to  end  th'  unlucky  strife, 
Is  but  a  vow  that  you  will  be  my  wife. 

Lyndar.     To  tie  me  to  you  by  a  vow  is  hard; 
It  shows  my  love  you  as  no  tie  regard. 
Name  anything  but  that,  and  I'll  agree. 

Abdelm.     Swear   then,  you  never   will   my   rival's  be. 
100        Lyndar.     Nay,  pr'ythee,  this  is  harder  then  before. 
Name  anything,  good  dear,  but  that  thing  more. 

Abdelm.     Now  I  too  late  perceive  I  am  undone; 
Living  and  seeing,  to  my  death  I  run. 
I  know  you  false,  yet  in  your  snares  I  fall; 
You  grant  me  nothing,  and  I  grant  you  all. 

Lyndar.     I  would  grant  all;   but  I  must  curb  my  will, 
Because  I  love  to  keep  you  jealous  still. 
In  your  suspicion  I  your  passion  find; 
But  1  will  take  a  time  to  cure  your  mind. 
110         Ealyma.     O,  madam,  the  new  king  is  drawing  near! 

Lyndar.     Haste  quickly  hence,  lest  he  should  find  you  here! 

Abdelm.     How  much  more  wretched  then  I  came,  I  go!  ^ 
I  more  my  weakness  and  your  falsehood  know;  r 

And  now  must  leave  you  with  my  greatest  foe!  J 

[Exit  Abdelm. 

Lyndar.     Go! — How  I  love  thee,  heav'n  can  only  tell: 
And  yet  I  love  thee,  for  a  subject,  well. — 
Yet,  whatsoever  charms  a  crown  can  bring, 
A  subject's  greater  then  a  little  king. 
I  will  attend  till  time  this  throne  secure; 


73.     suWltp]  QqF.    suWety  SsM, 


PAKT  I,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  49 

120  And,  when  I  climb,  my  footing  shall  be  sure. —  [Music  without. 

Music !  and,  I  believe,  address'd  to  me. 


SONG 

I. 
Wherever  I  am,  and  ivhatever  I  do, 

My  Phyllis  is  still  in  my  mind; 
When  angry,  I  mean  not  to  Phyllis  to  go, 

My  feet,  of  themselves,  the  way  find: 
Unknown  to  myself  I  am  just  at  her  door. 
And,  when  I  tcould  rail,  I  can  bring  out  no  Tnore, 

Than:     "Phyllis  too  fair  and  unkind!'' 

II. 
When  Phyllis  I  sec,  my  heart  bounds  in  my  breast, 
130  And  the  love  I  would  stifle  is  shown; 

But  asleep,  or  awake,  I  am  never  at  rest. 

When  from  my  eyes  Phyllis  is  gone. 
Sometimes  a  sad  dream  does  delude  my  sad  mind; 
But,  alas!  when  I  wake,  and  no  Phyllis  I  find. 
How  I  sigh  to  myself  all  alone! 

III. 
Should  a  king  be  my  rival  iu  her  I  adore, 
He  should  offer  his  treasure  in  vain: 

0  let  me  alone  to  be  happy  and  poor. 
And  give   me   viy  Phyllis   again! 

140  Let  Phyllis  be  mine,  and  but  ever  be  kind, 

1  could  to  a  dcsart   with  her  be  confined. 
And  envy  no   monarch  his  reign. 

IV. 

Alas!    I  discover  too  much  of  my  love. 
And  she  too  well  knows  her  own  pow'r! 

She  makes  mc  each  day  a  new  martyrdom  prove. 
And  makes  me  grow  jealous  each  hour: 

But  let  her  each  minute  torment  my  poor  mind, 

I  had  rather  love  PliyUis,  both  false  and  unkind, 
Then  ever  be  freed  from  her  pow'r. 

Abdalla   enters   tvith   guards. 

150         Abdal.     Now,  madam,  at  your  feet  a  king  you  sec; 
Or  rather,  if  you   please,  a  scepter'd   slave: 
'Tis  just  you  should  possess  the  pow'r  you  gave. 
Had  love  not  made  me  yours,  I  yet  had  bin 
But  the  first  subject  to  Boabdelin. 
Thus  heav'n   declares   the   crown   I  bring   your   due; 
And  bad  forgot  my  title,  hut  for  you, 


50  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Lyndar.     Heav'n  to  your  merits  will,  I  hope,  be  kindj 
But,  sir,  it  has  not  yet  deelar'd  its  mind. 
'Tis  true,  it  holds  the  crown  above  your  head; 
160  But  does  not  fix  it  till  your  brother's  dead. 

Abdal.     All  but  th'  Alhambra  is  within  my  pow'r; 
And  that  my  forces  go  to  take  this  hour. 

Lyndar.     When,  with  its  keys,  your  brother's  head  you  bring, 
I  shall  believe  you  are  indeed  a  king. 

Abdal.     But  since  th'  events  of  all  things  doubtful  are, 
And,  of  events,  most  doubtful  those  of  war ; 
I  beg  to  know  before,  if  fortune  frown. 
Must  I  then  lose  your  favor  with  my  crown? 

Lyndar.     You'll  soon  return  a  conqueror  again; 
170  And  therefore,  sir,  your  question  is  in  vain. 

Abdal.     I  think  to  certain  victory  I  move; 
But  you  may  more  assure  it,  by  your  love. 
That  grant  will  make  my  arms  invincible. 

Lyndar.     My  pray'rs  and  wishes  your  success  foretell. — 
Go  then,  and  fight,  and  think  you  fight  for  me; 
I  wait  but  to  reward  your  victory. 

Abdal.     But  if  1  lose  it,  must  I  lose  you  too? 

Lyndar.     You  are  too  curious,  if  you  more  would  know. 
I  know  not  what  my  future  thoughts  will  be: 
180  Poor  women's  thoughts  are  all  extempore. 
Wise  men,  indeed. 

Beforehand  a  long  chain  of  thoughts  produce; 
But  ours  are  only  for  our  present  use. 

Abdal.     Those  thoughts,  you  will  not  know,  too  well  declare 
You  mean  to  wait  the  final  doom  of  war. 

Lyndar.     I  find  you  come  to  quarrel  with  me  now; 
Would  you  know  more  of  me  then  I  allow? 
W^hence  are  you  grown  that  great   divinity 
That  with  such  ease  into  my  thoughts  can  pry? 
190  Indulgence  does  not  with  some  tempers  suit; 
I  see  I  must  become  more  absolute. 

Abdal.     I  must  submit, 
On  what  hard  terms  soe'er  my  peace  be  bought. 

Lyndar.    Submit! — You  speak  as  you  were  not  in  fault. 
'Tis  evident  the  injury  is  mine; 
For  why  should  you  my  secret  thoughts  divine? 

Abdal.     Yet  if  we  might  be  judg'd  by  reason's  laws! — 

Lyndar.     Then  you  would  have  your  reason  judge  my  cause  !- 
Either  confess  your   fault,  or  hold  your  tongue; 
200  For  I  am  sure  I'm  never  in  the  wrong. 

Abdal.     Then  1  acknowledge  it. 

Lyndar.  Then  I  forgive. 

Abdal.     Under  how  hard  a  law  poor  lovers  live! 
Who,  like   the  vanquish'd,   must   their  right   release. 


194.     fault.]  Q3F.     fault?  Q1Q2Q4Q5. 


PAET  I,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  51 

And  with  the  loss  of  reason  buy  their  peace. —  [Aside, 

Madam,   to   show   that  you  my  pow"r  command, 

I  put  my  life  and  safety  in  your  hand. 

Dispose  of  the  Albayzin  as  you  please : 

To  your  fair  hands  I  here  resign  the  keys. 

Lyndar.     I  take  your  gift,  because  your  love  it  shews, 
210  And  faithful  Selin  for  alcalde  choose. 

Abdul.     Selin,  from  her  alone  your  orders  take. 
This  one  request,  yet,  madam,  let  me  make, 
That  from  those  turrets  you  th'  assault  will  see; 
And  crown,  once  more,  my  arms  with  victory.  {Leads  her  out. 

[Selin  remains  with  Gazul  and  Keduax,  Ms  servants.] 

Selin.    Gazul,  go  tell  my  daughter  that  I  wait. 
You,  Reduan,  bring  the  pris'ner  to  his  fate.        [Exeunt  Gaz.  and  Red. 
Ere  of  my  charge  I  will  possession  take, 
A  bloody  sacrifice  I  mean  to  make : 
The  manes  of  my  son  shall  smile  this  day, 
220  While  I,  in  blood,  my  vows  of  vengeance  pay. 

Enter  at  one  door  Bexzayda,  with  Gazul;  at  the  other,  Ozmyn 
hound,  ivith  Reduan. 

Selin.     I  sent,  Benzayda,  to  glad  your  eyes: 
These  rites  we  owe  your  brother's  obsequies. — 
You  two  [to  Gaz.  and  Red.]  th'  accurst  Abencerrago  bind: 
You  need  no  more  t'  instruct  you  in  my  mind. 

[They  bind  him  to  one  corner  of  the  stage. 

Benz.     In  what  sad  object  am  I  call'd  to  share? 
Tell  me,  what  is  it,  sir,  you  here  prepare? 

Selin.     'Tis  what  your  dying  brother  did  bequeath; 
A  scene  of  vengeance,  and  a  pomp  of  death! 

Btnz.     The  horrid  spectacle  my  soul  does  fright; 
230  [  want  the  heart  to  see  the  dismal  sight. 

Selin.     You  are  my  principal  invited  guest,  • 

Whose  eyes  1  would  not  only  feed,  but  feast: 
You  are  to  smile  at  his  last  groaning  breath, 
And  laugh  to  see  his  eyeballs  roll  in  death; 
To  judge  the  ling'ring  soul's  convulsive  strife, 
When  thick  short  breath  catches  at  parting  life. 

Benz.     And  of  what  marble  do  you  think  me  made? 

Selin.     What!     Can  you  be  of  just  revenge  afraid? 

Be7iz.     He  kill'd  my  brother  in  his  own  defense; 
240  Pity  his  youth,  and  spare  his  innocence. 

Selin.     Art  thou  so  soon  to  pardon  murder  won? 
Can  he  be  innocent,  who  kill'd  my  son? 
Abenamar  shall  mourn  as  well  as  I; 


200.  shrirx]  F.     xhows  Qq  SsM.  ^_         ,     j     ,     ,  ™ 

210  alcat'lc  chnoKc]   QlQ'J(^■:g4•     ohade  choose  Q.'*.     alcadc  I  choose  V. 

22:5.  th'  itcriiinl]   QKH-      th'  curnl  <i2.     thr  curst  Q3Qol'    bsM. 

240.  i/iJiocc/icTl   (J1Q2q:>Q4.     iiisoUiicc  (J.'jF. 


52  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

His  Ozmyn  for  my  Tarifa  shall  die. 
But  since  thou  plead'st  so  boldly,  I  Mill  see 

That  justice  thou  wouldst  hinder  done  by  thee.       [Gives  her  his  sword. 
Here,  take  the  sword,  and  do  a  sister's  part: 
Pierce  his,  fond  girl,  or  I  will  pierce  thy  heart. 
Ozm.     To  his  commands  I  join  my  own  request; 
250  All  wounds  from  you  are  welcome  to  my  breast: 
Think  only,  when  your  hand  this  act  has  done, 
It  has  but  finish "d  Avhat  your  eyes  begun. 
I  thought  with  silence  to  have  scorn 'd  my  doom, 
But  now  your  noble  pity  has  oVrcome; 
Which  1  acknowledge  with  my  latest  breath; 
The  first  who  e'er  began  a  love  in  death. 

Benz.     [to  Selin.]     Alas,  what  aid  can  my  weak  hand  afford? 
You  see  I  tremble  when  I  touch  a  sword: 
The  brightness  dazzles  me,  and  turns  my  sight; 
260  Or,  if  1  look,  'tis  but  to  aim  less  right. 

Ozm.     I'll  guide  the  hand  which  must  my   death   convey; 
My  leaping  heart  shall  meet  it  half  the  way. 

Selin.     [to  Benz.]     Waste  not  the  precious  time  in  idle  breath. 
Benz.     Let  me  resign  this  instrument  of  death. 

[Giving  the  sword  to  her  father,  and  then  pulling  it  bach. 
Ah,  no !  I  was  too  hasty  to  resign : 
'Tis  in  your  hand  more  mortal  then  in  mine. 

To  them  Hamet. 

Eamet.     The  king  is  from  th'  Alhambra  beaten  back, 
And  now  preparing  for  a  new  attack; 
To  favor  which,  he  wills  that  instantly 
270  You  reinforce  him  with  a  new  supply. 

Selin.     [to  Benz.]     Think  not,  altho'  my  duty  calls  me  hence, 
That  with  the  breach  of  yours  I  will  dispense. 
Ere  my  return  see  my  commands  you  do: 
Let  me  find  Ozmyn  dead,  and  kill'd  by  you. — 
Gazul  and  Reduan,  attend  her  still; 
And,  if  she  dares  to  fail,  perform  my  will. 

[Exeunt  Selin  and  Hamet. 

[Benzayda   looTcs   languishing   on    him,  ivith   her  sword  down; 
Gazul  and  Reduan  standing  with  drawn  swords  by  her. 
Ozm.     Defer  not,  fair  Benzayda,  my  death: 
Looking  for  you, 

I  should  but  live  to  sigh  away  my  breath. 
280  My  eyes  have  done  the  work  they  had  to  do:     ^ 
I  take  your  image  with  me,  which  they  drew;      > 
And,  when  they  close,   I  shall   die  full   of  you.  J 

Benz.     When  parents  their  commands  unjustly  lay. 
Children  are  privileg'd  to  disobey; 
Yet  from  that  breach  of  duty  I  am  clear, 
Since  I  submit  the  penalty  to  bear, 


PART  I,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  53 

To  die,  or  kill  you,  is  th'  alternative; 
Rather  then  take  your  life,  I  will  not  live. 

Ostn.     This  shows  th'  excess  of  generosity; 
290  But,  madam,  you  have  no  pretense  to  die. 
I  should  defame  th'  Abencorrages'  race, 
To  let  a  lady  suffer  in  my  place. 
But  neither  could  that  life,  you  would  bestow,  "l 
Save  mine;   nor  do  you  so  much  pity  owe  > 

To  me,  a  stranger,  antl  your  house's  foe.  J 

Benz.     From  wheneesoe'er  their  hate  our  houses  drew, 
I  blush  to  tell  you,  I  have  none  for  you. 
'Tis  a  confession  which   I  should  not  make. 
Had  I  more  time  to  give,  or  you  to  take : 
300  But,  since  death's  near,  and  runs  with  so  much  force, 
We  must  meet  first,  and  intercept  his  course. 

Ozm.     O,  how  unkind  a  con- fort  do  you  give! 
Now  I  fear  death  again,  and  wish  to  live. 
Life  were  worth  taking,  could  I  have  it  now;     "^ 
But  'tis  more  good   than  heav'n  can  e'er  allow    > 
To  one  man's  portion,  to  liave  life  and  you.       J 

Bei}~.     Sure,  at  our  births. 
Death  with  our  meeting  planets  danc'd  above, 

Or  we  were  wounded  by  a  mourning  love!  {Shouts  uithin. 

310        iied.     The  noise  returns,  and  doubles  from  behind; 
It  seems  as  if  two  adverse  armies  join'd. — 
Time  presses  us. 

Gas.  If  longer  you  delay. 

We  must,  tho '  loth,  your  father  's  will  obey, 

Osm.     Haste,  madam,  to  fulfil  his  hard  commands, 
And   rescue  me   from  their  ignoble  hands. 
Let  me  kiss  yours,   when   you   my  \Yound   begin, 
Then  easy  death  will  slide  with  pleasure  in. 

Benz.     Ah,  gentle  soldiers,  some  short  time   allow! 

[To   G.\z.    and   Red, 

My  father  has  repented  him  ere  now; 
320  Or   will   repent   him,   when   he   finds  me  dead. 
My  clue  of  life  is  twin'd  with  Ozmyn's  thread. 

Med.     'Tis  fatal  to  refuse  her,  or  obey. 
But  where  is  our  excuse?  what  can  we  say? 

Benz.     Say;   anything 

Say  that  to  kill  the  guiltless  you  were  loth; 
Or  if  you  did,  say  I  would  kill  you  both. 

Gaz.     To  disobey  our  orders  is  to  die. — 
I'll  do  't:  who  dare  oppose  it? 

Bed.  That  dare  I. 

[Reduan  stand,s  before  Ozmyn,  and  fif/hts  uith  Gazul.     Ben- 
ZAYDA  unbinds  Ozmyn,  and  gives  him  her  su-ord. 

Benz.     Stay  not  to  see  the  issue  of  the  fight;  [Red.  IciUs  Gaz. 

330  But  haste  to  save  yourself  by  speedy  flight. 


54  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Oj?)i.     [Kneeling  to  Jciss  her  hand.]  Did  all  mankind  against  my  life 
conspire, 
Without   this  blessing   I  vrould   not   retire. 
But,  madam,  can  I  go  and  leave  you  here? 
Your  father's  anger  now  for  you  I  fear: 
Consider  you  have  done   too  much   to   stay. 

Bcnz.     Think  not  of  me,  but  fly  yourself  away. 

HcJ.     Haste  quickly  hence;   the  enemies  are  nigh! 
From  every  part  1  see  our  soldiers  fly. 
The   foes  not  only  our  assailants  beat, 
340  ]5ut  fiercely  sally  out  on  their  retreat, 

And,  like  a  sea  broke  loose,  come  on  amain. 

To    them  Abenamar,   and    a    party   with    their   swords    drawn, 
driving  in  some  of  the  enemies. 

Aben.     Traitors,  you  hope  to  save  yourselves  in  vain! 
Your  forfeit  lives  shall  for  your  treason  pay; 
And  Ozmyn"s  blood  shall  be  reveng'd  this  day. 

Osm.      [Kneeling   to  his  father.]      No,   sir,   your   Ozmyn   lives;    and 
lives  to  own 
A  father 's  piety  to  free  his  son. 

Aben.     [Embracing  him.]     My  Ozmyn !^ — O  thou  blessing  of  my  age! 
And  art  thou   safe   from  their  deluded   rage!  — 
Whom  must  I  praise  for  thy  deliverance? 
350  Was  it  thy  valor,  or  the  work  of  chance? 

Ozm.     Nor  chance,  nor  valor,  could   deliver  me; 
But  'twas  a  noble  pity  set  me  free. 
My  liberty,  and  life. 

And  what  your  happiness  you're  pleas'd  to  call. 
We  to  this  charming  beauty  owe  it   all. 

Aben.     [to  her.]     Instruct  me,  visible  divinity! 
Instruct  me  by  what  name  to  worship  thee! 
For  to  thy  virtue  I  would  altars  raise, 
Since  thou  art  much  above  all  human  praise. 
360  But  see 

Enter  Almanzor,  his  sxvord  bloody,   leading  in  Almahide,  at- 
tended   by    ESPERANZA. 

My  other  blessing,  Almahide,  is  here! 

I'll  to  the  king,  and  tell  him  she  is  near: 

You,  Ozmyn,  on  your  fair  deliverer  wait. 

And   with   your  private   joys   the   public   celebrate.  [Exeunt. 

Almanzor,  Almahide,  Esperanza. 

Almanz.     The  work  is  done;   now,  madam,  you  are  free; 
At  least,  if  I  can  give  you  liberty: 

338.     o«;]   QqF.     the  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  55 

But  you  have  chains  which  you  yourself  have  chose; 
And  0  that  I  could  free  you  too  from  those! 
But  you  are   free  from  force,  and  have   full  pow'r 
370  To  go,  and  kill  my  hopes  and  me,  this  hour. 
I  see,  then,  you  will  go;   but  yet  my  toil 
May  be  rewarded  with  a  looking-while. 

Almah.     Almanzor  can  from  every  subject  raise 
New  matter  for  our  wonder  and   his  praise. 
You  bound  and  freed  me;   but  the  difference  is, 
That  show'd  your  valor;   but  your  virtue  this. 

Almanz.     Madam,  you   praise  a   fun'ral  victory, 
At  whose  sad  pomp  the  conqueror  must  die. 

Almah.     Conquest  attends  Almanzor  everywhere; 
380  I  am  too  small  a  foe  for  him  to  fear: 
But  heroes  still  must  be  oppos'd  by  some, 
Or  they  would  want  occasion  to  o'ereome. 

Almam.     Madam,  I  cannot  on  bare  praises  live; 
Those  who  abound  in  praises  seldom  give. 

Almah.     While  I  to  all  the  world  your  worth  make  known, 
May  heav'n  reward  the  pity  you  have  shown! 

Almanz.     My  love  is  languishing,  and  sterv'd  to  death; 
And  would  you  give  me  charity — in  breath? 
Pray'rs  are  the  alms  of  churchmen  to  the  poor: 
890  They  send  to  heaven's,  but  drive  us  from  their  door. 

Almah.     Cease,  cease  a  suit 
So  vain  to  you,  and  troublesome  to  me. 
If  you  will  have  me  think  that  I  am  free. 
If  I  am  yet  a  slave,  my  bonds  I  '11  bear ; 
But  what  I  cannot  grant,  I  will  not  hear. 

Almanz.    You  wonnot  hear!     You  must  both  hear  and  grant; 
For,  madam,  there's  an  impudence  in  want. 

Almah.     Your  way  is  somewliat  strange  to  ask  relief; 
You  ask  with  threat'ning,  like  a  begging  thief. 
400  Once  more,  Almanzor,  tell  me,  am   I   free? 

Almanz.     Madam,  you  are,  from  all  the  world, — but  mel 
But  as  a  pirate,  when  he  frees  the  prize  "^ 

He  took  from  friends,  sees  the  rich  merchandise,  >■ 
And,  after  he  has  freed  it,  justly  buys;  J 

So,  when  I  have  restor'd  your  liberty — 
But  then,  alas,  I  am  too  poor  to  buy! 

Almah.     Nay,  now  you  use  me  just  as  pirates  do: 
You  free  me;  but  expect  a  ransom  too. 

Almanz.     You've  all  the  freedom  that  a  prince  can  have; 
410  But  greatness  cannot  be  without  a  slave. 
A  monarch  never  can  in  private  move, 
But  still  is  haunted   with   ofTicious  love. 
So  small  an  inconvenience  you  may  bear; 

390.     send  to  heaien's]   QqF.     send's  to  heaven  SsM. 
396.     wonnot]  QqF.     will  not  SsM. 


56  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

'Tis  all  tbe  fine  fate  sets  upon  the  fair. 

Almah.     Yet  princes  may  retire  \\hene"er  they  please, 
And  breathe  free  air  from  out  their  palaces: 
They  go  sometimes  unknown,  to  shun  their  state; 
And  then  'tis  manners  not  to  know  or  wait. 

Jlmanz.     If  not  a  subject,  then  a  ghost   I'll  be; 
420  And  from  a  ghost,  you  know,  no  place  is  free. 
Asleep,  awake,  I'll  haunt  you  everywhere; 
From  my  white  shroud  groan  love  into  your  ear. 
When  in  your  lover's  arms  you  sleep  at  night, 
I'll  glide  in  cold  betwixt,  and  seize  my  right 
And  is  't  not  better,  in  your  nuptial  bed. 
To  have  a  living  lover  than  a  dead? 

Almah.     I  can  no  longer  bear  to  be  accus'd, 
As  if,  what  I  could  grant  you,  I  refus'd. 
My  father's  choice  I  never  will  dispute; 
430  And  he  has  chosen  ere  you  mov'd  your  suit. 
You  know  my  case;   if  equal  you  can  be, 
Plead  for  yourself,  and  answer  it  for  me. 

Almans.     Then,  madam,  in  that  hope  you  bid  me  live; 
I  ask  no  more  then  you  may  justly  give: 
But  in  strict  justice  there  may  favor  be, 
And  may  I  hope  that  you  have  that  for  me? 

Almah.     Why  do   you   thus   my  secret   thoughts  pursue, 
Which,  known,  hurt  me,  and  cannot  profit  you? 
Your  knowledge  but   new   troubles  does  prepare, 
440  Like  theirs  who  curious  in  their  fortunes  are. 
To  say,  I  could  with  more  content  be  yours, 
Tempts  you  to  hope;   but  not  that  hope  assures. 
For  since  the  king  has  right, 
And  favor'd  by  my  father  in  his  suit. 
It  is  a  blossom  which  can  bear  no  fruit. 
Yet,   if  you   dare   attempt   so   hard   a  task. 
May  you  succeed;  you  have  my  leave  to  ask. 

Almaiiz.     I  can  with  courage  now  my  hopes  pursue. 
Since  I  no  longer  have  to  combat  you. 
450  That  did  the  greatest  difficulty  bring; 
The  rest  are  small,  a  father  and  a  king 

Almah.     Great  souls  discern  not  when  the  leap's  too  wide, 
Because  they  only  view  the  farther  side. 
Whatever  you  desire,  you  think  is  near; 
But,  with  more  reason,  the  event  I  fear. 

Almans.     No;  there  is  a  necessity  in  fate, 
Wliy  still  the  brave  bold  man  is  fortunate: 
He  keeps  his  object  ever  full  in  sight. 
And  that  assurance  holds  him  firm  and  right. 
460  True,  'tis  a  narrow  path  that  leads  to  bliss,  *  'j 

But  right  before  there  is  no  precipice:  \- 

Fear  makes  men  look  aside,  and  then  their  footing  miss.  J 

Almah.     I  do  your  merit  all  the  right  I  can, 


PART  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  I  57 

Admiring  virtue  in  a  private  man; 

I  only  wish  the  king  may  grateful  be 

And  that  my  father  with  my  eyes  may  see. 

Might  I  not  make  it  as  my  last  request, 

(Since  humble  carriage  suits  a  suppliant  best,) 

That  you  would  somewhat  of  your  fierceness  hide — 
^70  That  inborn  fire — I  do  not  call  it  pride? 

Almans.     Born,  as  I  am,  still  to  command,  not  sue, 

Yet  you  shall  see  that  I  can  beg  for  you; 

And  if  your  father  will  require  a  crown. 

Let  him  but  name  the  kingdom,  'tis  his  own. 

I  am,  but  while  I  please,  a  private  man; 

I  have  that  soul  which  empires  first  began. 

From  the  dull  crowd  which  every  king  does  lead 

I  will  pick  out  whom  I  will  choose  to  head : 

The  best  and  bravest  souls  I  can  select, 
*80  And  on  their  conquer'd  necks  my  throne  erect.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V.    SCENE  I. 

Abdallah  alone,  under  the  walls  of  the  Alhayzin. 

Abdal.     While  she  is  mine,  I  have  not  yet  lost  all. 
But,  in  her  arms,  shall  have  a  gentle  fall: 
Blest  in  my  love,  altho'  in  war  o'ercome, 
I  fly,  like  Anthony  from  Actium, 
To  meet  a  better  Cleopatra  here. — 
You  of  the  watch !  you  of  the  watch !  appear. 

Hold,     [above.]     Who  calls  below?     What's  your  demand? 

Abdul.  'Tis  I; 

Open  the  gate  with  speed;  the  foe  is  nigh. 

ISold.     What  orders  for  admittance  do  you  bring? 
10         Ahdnl.     Slave,  my  own  orders:  look,  and  know  the  king. 

Hold.     I  know  you;  but  my  charge  is  so  severe 
That  none,  without  exception,  enter  here. 

Abdul.     Traitor,  and  rebel,  thou  shalt  shortly  see 
Thy  orders  are  not  to  extend  to  me. 

Lyndar.     [above.]     What  saucy  slave  so  rudely  does  exclaim, 
And  brands  my  subject  with  a  rebel's  name? 

Abdal.     Dear  Lyndaraxa,  haste;   the  foes  pursue. 

Lyndar.     My  lord,  the  Prince  Abdalla,  is  it  you? 
I  scarcely  can  believe  the  words  I  hear; 
20  Could  you  so  coarsely  treat  my  officer? 

Abdal.     He  forc'd  me;  but  the  danger  nearer  draws: 
When  1  am  enter'd,  you  shall  know  the  cause. 

Lyndar.     Enter'd!      Why,  have  you  any  business  here? 

Abdal.     I  am  pursued,  the  enemy  is  near. 

Lyndar.     Are  you  pursued,  and  do  you  thus  delay 
To  save  yourself?     Make  haste,  my  lord,  away. 


58  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Abdal.    Give  me  not  cause  to  think  you  mock  my  grief: 
What  place  have  1,  but  this,  for  my  relief? 

Lyndar.     This  favor  does  your  handmaid   much   oblige, 
30  But  we  are  not  provided  for  a  siege: 

My  subjects  few;  and  their  provision  thin; 
The  foe  is  strong  without,  we  weak  within. 
This  to  my  noble  lord  may  seem  unkind. 
But  he  will  weigh  it  in  his  princely  mind; 
And  pardon  her,  who  does  assurance  want 
So  much,  she  blushes  when  she  cannot  grant. 

Abdal.    Yes,  you  may  blush;  and  you  have  cause  to  weep 
Is  this  the  faith  you  promis'd  me  to  keep? 
Ah  yet,  if  to  a  lover  you  will  bring 
40  No  succor,  give  your  succor  to  a  king. 

Lyndar.     A  king  is  he  whom  nothing  can  withstand; 
Who  men  and  money  can  with  ease  command. 
A  king  is  he  whom  fortune  still  does  bless; 
He  is  a  king,  who  does  a  crown  possess. 
If  you  would  have  me  think  that  you  are  he, 
Produce  to  view  your  marks  of  sovereignty; 
But  if  yourself  alone  for  proof  you  bring, 
You're  but  a  single  person,  not  a  king. 

Abdal.     Ingrateful  maid,  did   I  for  this  rebel? 
50  I  say  no  more;  but  I  have  lov'd  too  well. 

Lyndar.     Who  but  yourself  did  that  rebellion  move? 
Did  I  e'er  promise  to  receive  your  love? 
Is  it  my  fault  you  are  not  fortunate? 
I  love  a  king,  but  a  poor  rebel  hate. 

Abdal.     Who  follow  fortune,  still  are  in  the  right; 
But  let  me  be  protected  here  this  night. 

Lyndar.     The   place  to-morrow  will   be   circled   round; 
And  then  no  way  will  for  your  flight  be  found. 

Abdal.     I  hear  my  enemies  just  coming  on;  [Trampling  within. 

60  Protect  me  but  one  hour,  till  they  are  gone. 

Lyndar.     They'll  know  you  have  been  here;  it  cannot  be; 
That  very  hour  you  stay,  will  ruin  me: 
For  if  the  foe  behold  our  enterview, 
I  shall  be  thought  a  rebel  too,  like  you. 
Haste  hence;  and  that  your  flight  may  prosperous  prove, 
I'll  recommend  you  to  the  pow'rs  above.  [Exit  Lynd.  from  above. 

Abdal.     She's  gone!     Ah,  faithless  and  ingrateful  maid! 
I  hear  some  tread;  and  fear  I  am  betray 'd. 
I'll  to  the  Spanish  king;   and  try  if  he,  ^ 

70  To  count'nance  his  own  right,  will  succor  me:  V 

There  is  more  faith  in  Christian  dogs,  than  tliee.  J  [Exit. 


6.3.     enterrielt■^  Qq.     interview  F  SsM. 

68.     /  hear]  Q3F.     I  fear  Q1Q2Q4Q5 ;  a  misprint  evidently  caused  by  the 
fear,  later  in  the  line. 


PAET  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  II  59 

[SCENE  II] 

OZMYN,    Benzayda,    Abenamar. 

Bens.    I  wish 
(To  merit  all  these  thanks)    I  could  have  said,    "^ 
My  pity  only  did  his  virtue  aid;  >- 

'Twas  pity,  but  'twas  of  a  love-sick  maid.  J 

His  manly  suffering  my  esteem  did  move; 
That  bred  compassion,  and  compassion  love, 

Ozm.     O  blessing  sold  me  at  too  cheap  a  rate! 
My  danger  was  the  benefit  of  fate.  [To  his  father. 

But  that  you  may  my  fair  deliverer  know, 
10  She  was  not  only  born  our  house's  foe. 
But  to  my  death  by  pow'rful  reasons  led; 
At  least,  in  justice,  she  might  wish  me  dead. 

Aben.    But  why  thus  long  do  you  her  name  conceal? 

Ozm.     To   gain  belief   for   what   I  now   reveal: 
Ev'n  thus  prepar'd,  you  scarce  can  think  it  true,    "^ 
The  saver  of  my  life  from  Selin  drew  >■ 

Her  birth;   and  was  his  sister  whom  I  slew.  J 

Aben.     No  more;   it   cannot,  was   not,  must  not  be: 
Upon  my  blessing,  say  not  it  was  she. 
20  The  daughter  of  the  only  man  I  hate! 
Two  contradictions  twisted  in  a  fate! 

Ozm.     The  mutual  hate  which  you  and  Seliu  bore 
Does  but  exalt  her  generous  pity  more. 
Could  she  a  brother's  death  forgive  to  me, 
And  cannot  you  forget  her  family? 
Can  you  so  ill  requite  the  life  I  owe, 
To  reckon  her  who  gave  it  still  your  foe? 
It  lends  too  great  a  luster  to  her  line 
To  lot  her  virtue  ours  so  much  outshine. 
30         Aben.     Thou  giv'st  her  line  th'  advantage  which  they  have. 
By  meanly  taking  of  the  life  they  gave. 
Grant  that  it  did  in  her  a  pity  show; 
But  would  my  son  be  pitied  by  a  foe? 
She  has  the  glory  of  thy  act  defac'd : 
Thou  kiirdst  her  brother;  but  she  triumphs  last: 
Poorly  for  us  our  enmity  would  cease; 
When  we  are  beaten,  we  receive  a  peace. 

Bcnz.     If  that  be  all  in  which  you  disagree, 
I  must  confess  'twas  Ozmyn  conquer'd  me. 
40  Had  I  beheld  him  basely  beg  his  life, 
I  should  not  now  submit  to  be  his  wife; 
But  when  I  saw  his  courage  death  control, 
I  paid  a  secret  homage  to  his  soul; 
And  thought  my  cruel  father  much  to  blame, 


SCE.NE  II]   not  markod  in  QnF  SsM. 
30.     uiv'st]    yigiiQ:{.     i/arcxt  Q4Q.">.      ( 
35.     kill'dat]   Qig2Q;5Q4.     kilViit  Q.^F. 


60  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Since  Ozmyn's  virtue  lii^  revenge  did  shame. 

Aben.     What  constancy  canst  thou  e'er  hope  to  find 
In  that  unstable  and  soon  conquer'd  mind? 
What  piety  canst  thou  expect  from  her, 
Who  could  forgive  a  brother's  murderer? 
50  Or  what  obedience  hop's:  thou  to  be  paid 
From  one  who  first  her  father  disobey'd? 

Ozm.     Nature,   that  bids  us  parents  to   obey, 
Bids  parents  their  commands  by  reason  weigh; 
And  you  her  virtue  by  your  praise  did  own. 
Before  you  knew  by  whom  the  act  was  done. 

Aben.     Your  reasons  speak  too  much  of  insolence; 
Her  birth  's  a  crime  past  pardon  or  defense. 
Know,  that  as  Selin  was  not  won  by  thee. 
Neither  will  1  by  Selin's  daughter  be. 
60  Leave  her,  or  cease  henceforth  to  be  my  son: 

This   is   my   will;    and   this    I   will   have    done.  [Exit   Aben 

Ozm.     It  is  a  murd'ring  will 
That  whirls  along  with  an  impetuous  sway. 
And,  like  chain-shot,  sweeps  all  things  in  its  way. 
He  does  my  honor  want  of  duty  call; 
To  that,  and  love,  he  has  no  right  at  all. 

Bens.     No,  Ozmyn,  no ;  it  is  a  much  less  ill 
To  leave  me,  than  dispute  a  father 's  will. 
If  I  had  any  title  to  your  love, 
70  Your  father's  greater  right  does  mine  remove: 
Your  vows  and  faith  I  give  you  back  again, 
Since  neither  can  be  kept  without  a  sin. 

Ozm.     Nothing  but   death  my  vows  can  give  me  back: 
They  are  not  yours  to  give,  nor  mine  to  take. 

Bern.     Nay,  think  not,  tho'  I  could  your  vows  resign, 
My  love  or  virtue  could  dispense  with  mine. 
I  would  extinguish  your  unlucky  fire, 
To  make  you  happy  in  some  new  desire: 
I  can  preserve  enough  for  me  and  you, 
80  And  love,  and  be  unfortunate,  for  two. 

Ozm.     In  all  that's  good  and  great 
You  vanquish  me  so  fast,  that  in  the  end 
I  shall  have  nothing  left  me  to  defend. 
From  every  post  you  force  me  to  remove; 
But  let  me  keep  my  last  retrenchment,  love. 

Bens.     Love  then,  my  Ozmyn;  I  will  be  content       [Giving  her  hand. 
To  make  you  wretched  by  your  own  consent: 
Live  poor,  despis'd,  and  banish'd  for  my  sake, 
And  all  the  burden  of  n)y  sorrows  take; 
90  For,  as  for  me,  in  whatsoe'er  estate, 

49.  could]   Qq.     would  F. 

67.  it  is  a  much  less  ill]    F.     Q1Q4Q5   omit   a.     'its  not  so  great  an   ill 
Q2Q3. 

85.  fetrenchment]  QqF.    entrenchment  SsM,  to  tho  detriment  of  the  sense. 


PART  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  61 

While  I  have  you,  I  must  be  fortunate. 

Ozm.     Thus  then,  sccur'd  of  what  we  hokl  most  dear 
(Each  other's  love),  we'll  go — I  know  not  where. 
For  where,  alas,  should  we  our  flight  begin? 
The  foe's  without;   our  parents  are  within. 

Benz.     I'll  fly  to  you,  and  you  shall  fly  to  me; 
Our  flight  but  to  each  other's  arms  shall  be. 
To   providence   and   chance   permit   the   rest; 
Let  us  but  love  enough,  and  we  are  blest.  {Exeunt. 

[SCENE  III] 
Enter  Boabdelin,  Abenamar,  Abdelmelech,  Guard:  Zulema  and 

Hamet,  Prisoners. 

Abdclm.     They're  Lyndaraxa's  brothers;   for  her  sake, 
Their  lives   and  pardon   my  request   I  make. 

Boab.     Then,  Zulema  and  Haniot,  live;  but  know, 
Your  lives  to  Abdelmelech 's  suit  you  owe. 

Zul.     The  grace  receiv'd  so  much  my  hope  exceeds 
That  words  come  weak  and  short  to  answer  deeds. 
You've  made  a  venture,  sir,  and  time  must   show 
If  this  great  mercy  you  did  well  bestow. 

Boab.     You,   Abdelmelech,   haste   before   'tis   night, 
10  And  close  pursue  my  brother  in  his  flight. 

[Exeunt  Abdelmelech,  Zulema,  Hamet. 

Enter  Almanzor,  Almahide,  and  Esperanza. 

But  see,  with  Almahide 

The  brave  Almanzor  comes,  whose  conquering  sword 
The  crown,  it  once  took  from  me,  has  restor'd. 
How  can  I  recompense  so  great  desert ! 

Almanz.     I  bring  you,  sir,  perform'd  in  every  part, 
My  promise  made;  your  foes  are  fled  or  slain; 
Without   a   rival,   absolute  you    reign. 
Yet  tho ',  in  justice,  this  enough  may  be, 
It  is  too  little  to  be  done  by  me: 
20  I  beg  to  go, 

Where  my  own  courage  and  your  fortune  calls, 
To  chase  these  misbelievers  from  our  walls. 
I  cannot  breathe  within  this  narrow  space; 
My  heart's  too  big,  and  swells  beyond  the  place. 

Boab.    You  can  perform,  brave  warrior,  what  you  please; 
Fate  listens  to  your  voice,  and  then  decrees. 
Now  I  no  longer  fear  the  Spanish  pow'rs; 
Already  we  are  free,  and  conquerors. 

Almanz.     Accept,  great  king,  to-morrow,  from  my  hand. 


Scene  III]  not  markod  in  QqF.     Scene  II  SsM. 
1.     They're]  QqF.     They  are  SsM,  to  the  detriment  of  the  meter. 


62  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

30  The  captive  head  of  conquer'd  Ferdinand. 

You  shall  not  only  what  you  lost  regain,  "i 

But  o'er  the  Biscayn  mountains  to  the  main        ^ 

Extend  your  sway,  where  never  Moor  did  reign.  J 
Aben.     What,  in  another,  vanity  would  seem, 

Appears  but  noble  confidence  in  him; 

No  haughty  boasting,   but  a  manly  pride; 

A  soul  too  fiery  and  too  great  to  guide: 

He  moves  eccentric,  like  a  wand'ring  star 

Whose  motion  's  just,  tho'  'tis  not  regular. 
40        Boab.     It  is  for  you,  brave  man,  and  only  you. 

Greatly  to  speak,  and  yet  more  greatly  do. 

But,  if  your  benefits  too  far  extend, 

I  must  be  left  ungrateful  in  the  end: 

Yet  somewhat  I  would  pay, 

Before  my  debts  above  all  reck'ning  grow, 

To  keep  me  from  the  shame  of  what  I  owe. 

But  you 

Are  conscious  to  yourself  of  such  desert 

That  of  your  gift  I  fear  to  offer  part. 
50         Almanz.     When  I  shall  have  declared  my  high  request, 

So  much  presumption   there  will  be  confess'd 

That  you  will  find  your  gifts  I  do  not  shun, 

But  rather  much  o'errate  the  service  done. 

Boab.     Give  wing  to  your  desires,  and  let  'em  fly. 

Secure  they  cannot  mount  a  pitch  too  high. 

So  bless  me  Alha  both  in  peace  and  war. 

As  I  accord  whate'er  your  wishes  are. 

Almans.      [Putting   one  knee  on   the  ground.]      Embolden'd  by  the 
promise  of  a   prince, 

I  ask  this  lady  now  with  confidence. 
60        Boab.     You  ask  the  only  thing  I  cannot  grant. 

[The  King  and  Abenamar  look  amazedly  on  each  other. 

But,  as  a  stranger,  you  are  ignorant 

Of  what  by  public  fame  my  subjects  know; 

She  is  my  mistress. 

Abe7i.  — And  my  daughter  too. 

Almanz.     Believe,  old  man,  that  I  her  father  knew: 

What  else  should  make  Almanzor  kneel  to  you? 

Nor  doubt,   sir,   but   your  right   to  her  was   known:  "| 

For  had  you  had  no  claim  but  love  alone,  V 

I  could  produce  a  better  of  my  own.  J 

Almah.     [softly  to  him.]     Almanzor,  you  forget  my  last  request: 
70  Your  words  have  too  much  haughtiness  express'd. 

Is  this  the  humble  way  you  were  to  move? 

Almans.     [to  her.]     I  was  too  far  transported  by  my  love. 

Forgive  me;   for  I  had  not  learn'd  to  sue 

To  anything  before,  but  heav'n  and  you. 

58.     [knee  on]   Q1Q2Q3.     [knee  to]    Q4Q5F  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  63 

Sir,  at  your  feet,  I  make  it  my  request —  [To  the  King. 

[First  line  kneeling:  second,  rising,  and  boldly. 
Tho',  without  boasting,  I  deserve  her  best; 
For  you  her  love  with  gaudy  titles  sought, 
But  I  her  heart  with  blood  and  dangers  bought. 

Boab.     The  blood  which  you  have  shed  in  her  defense 
80  Shall  have  in  time  a  fitting  recompense; 
Or,  if  you  think  your  services  delay'd, 
Name  but  your  price,  and  you  shall  soon  be  paid. 

Almanz.     My  price!     Why,  king,  you  do  not  think  you  deal 
With  one  who  sets  his  services  to  sale? 
Reserve  your  gifts  for  those  who  gifts  regard; 
And  know,  I  think  myself  above  reward. 

Boab.     Then  sure  you  are  some  godhead;  and  our  care 
Must  be  to  come  with  incense  and  with  pray'r. 

Almam.     As  little  as  you  think  yourself  oblig'd, 
90  You  would  be  glad  to  do  't,  when  next  besieg'd. 
But  I  am  pleas'd  there  should  be  nothing  due; 
For  what  1  did  was  for  myself,  not  you. 

Boab.     You  with  contempt  on   meaner  gifts  look  down; 
And,  aiming  at  my  queen,  disdain  my  crown. 
That   crown,   restor'd,   deserves  no   recompense, 
Since  you  would  rob  the  fairest  jewel  thence. 
Dare  not  henceforth  ungrateful   mo  to  call; 
Whate'er  I  ow'd  you,  this  has  cancol'd  all. 

Almam.     I'll  call  thee  thankless,  king,  and  perjur'd  both: 
100  Thou  swor'st  by  AIha,  and  hast  broke  thy  oath. 
But  thou  dost  well;  thou  tak'st  the  cheapest  way; 
Not  to  own  services  thou  canst  not  pay. 

Boab.     My  patience   more  then  pays  thy  service  past; 
But  know  this  insolence  shall  be  thy  last. 
Hence  from  my  sight!  and  take  it  as  a  grace, 
Thou  liv'st,  and  art  but  banish'd  from  the  place. 

Almanz.     Where'er   1   go,  there  can  no  exile  be; 
But  from  Almanzor's  sight  I  banish  thee: 
I  will  not  now,  if  thou  wouldst  beg  me,  stay; 
110  But  I  will  take  my  Almahide  away. 

Stay  thou  with  all  thy  subjects  here;  but  know, 

We  leave  thy  city  empty  when  we  go.  [Takes  Almahide's  hand. 

Boab.     Fall  on;   take;    kill   the  traitor. 

[The  Guards  fall  on  him;  he  makes  at  the  King  thro'  the  midst 
of  them,  and  falls  upon  him;  ihey  disarm  him  and  rescue 
the  King. 

Almanz.  Base  and  poor. 

Blush  that  thou  art  Alnianzor's  conqueror. 

[Almahide   wrings  her  hands,  then   turns  and  veils  her   fnee. 
Farewell,  my  Almahide! 
Life  of  itself  will  go,  now  thou  art  gone, 


104.     A/ioir]   Q1Q2Q:{Q^.     now  Q5F  SsM. 


64  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

Like  flies  in  winter  when  they  lose  the  sun. 

[Abenamar  whispers  the  King  a   little,  then  speaks  aloud. 

Aben.     Revenge,  and  taken  so  secure  a  way, 
Are  blessings  which  heav'n  sends  not  every  day. 
120        Boab.     I  will  at  leisure  now  revenge  my  wrong; 
And,  traitor,  thou  shalt  feel  my  vengeance  long: 
Thou  shalt  not  die  just  at  thy  own  desire. 
But  see  my  nuptials,  and  with  rage  expire. 

Almans.     Thou  dar'st  not  marry  her  while   I'm  in  sight: 
With  a  bent  brow  thy  priest  and  thee  I'll  fright; 
And  in  that  scene 

Which  all  thy  hopes  and  wishes  should  content, 
The  thought  of  me  shall  make  thee  impotent. 

[He  is  led  of  by  Guards. 

Boab.     [to  Almah.]     As  some  fair  tulip,  by  a  storm  oppress'd, 
130  Shrinks  up,  and   folds  its  silken  arms  to  rest; 
And,  bending  to  the  blast,  all  pale  and  dead, 
Hears  from  within  the  wind  sing  round  its  head; 
So,  shrouded  up,  your  beauty  disappears: 
Unveil,  my  love,  and  lay  aside  your  fears. 
The  storm  that  caus'd  your  fright  is  pass'd  and  done. 

[Almahide   unveiling,   and   looking   round   for  Almanzor. 

Almah.     So  flow'rs  peep  out  too  soon,  and  miss  the  sun. 

[Turning  from  him. 

Boab.     What  myst'ry  in  this  strange  behavior  lies? 

Almah.     Let  me  for  ever  hide  these  guilty  eyes 
Which  lighted  my  Almanzor  to  his  tomb; 
140  Or,  let  'em  blaze,  to  shew  me  there  a  room, 

Boab.     Heav'n  lent  their  luster  for  a  nobler  end; 
A  thousand  torches  must  their  light  attend, 
To  lead  you  to  a  temple  and  a  crown. 
Why  does  my  fairest  Almahida  frown? 
Am  I  less  pleasing  than  I  was  before, 
Or,  is  the  insolent  Almanzor  more? 

Almah.     I  justly  own  that  I  some  pity  have, 
Not  for  the  insolent,  but  for  the  brave. 

Aben.     Tho'  to  your  king  your  duty  you  neglect, 
150  Know,  Almahide,  I  look  for  more  respect: 

And.  if  a   parent's  charge  your  mind  can  move. 
Receive  the   blessing   of  a   monarch's   love. 

Almah.     Did  he  my  freedom  to  his  life  prefer, 
And  shall  I  wed  Almanzor's  murderer? 
No,  sir,  1  cannot  to  your  will  submit; 
Your  way's  too  rugged  for  my  tender  feet. 

Aben.     You  mnst  be  driv'n  where  you  refuse  to  go; 
And  taught,  by  force,  your  happiness  to  know. 

Almah.     [Smiling  scornfully.]     To  force  me,  sir,  is  much  unworthy 

you, 

160  And,  when  you  would,  impossible   to   do. 

If  force  could  bend  me,  you  might  think,  with  shame, 


PAKT  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  65 

That  I  debas'd  the  blood  from  whence  I  came. 

My  soul  is  soft,  which  you  may  gently  lay  ^ 

In  your  loose  palm;  but,  when  'tis  press'd  to  stay,     >- 

Like  water,  it  deludes  your  grasp  and  slips  away.   J 
Boob.     I  find  I  must  revoke  what  I  decreed : 

Almanzor's  death  my  nuptials  must  precede. 

Love  is  a  magic  which  the  lover  ties; 

But  charms  still  end  when  the  magician  dies. 
170  Go;   let  me  hear  my  hated  rival  's  dead;  [To  his  Guards. 

And,  to  convince  my  eyes,  bring  back  his  head. 

Almah.     Go   on:    I  wish   no   other  way   to   prove 

That  I  am  worthy  of  Almanzor's  love. 

We  will  in  death,  at  least,  united  be: 

I'll  shew  you  I  can  die  as  well  as  he. 

Boab.     What  should  I  do!   when  equally  I  dread 

Almanzor  living  and  Almanzor  dead! 

Yet,  by  your  promise,  you  are  mine  alone. 

Almah.     How  dare  you  claim  my  faith,  and  break  your  own? 
180        Aben.     This  for  your  virtue  is  a  weak  defense: 

No  second  vows  can  with  your  first  dispense. 

Yet,  since  the  king  did  to  Almauzor  swear, 

And  in  his  death  ingrateful  may  appear, 

He  ought,  in  justice,  first  to  spare  his  life. 

And  then  to  claim  your  promise  as  his  wife. 
Almah.     Whate'er  my  secret  inclinations  be, 

To  this,  since  honor  ties  me,  I  agree: 

Yet  I  declare,  and  to  the  world  will  own, 

That,  far  from  seeking,  I  would  shun  the  throne, 
190  And  with  Almanzor  lead  an  humble  life: 

There  is  a  private  greatness  in  his  wife. 

Boab.     That   little  love    I  have,   I   hardly  buy; 

You  give  my  rival  all,  while  you  deny: 

Yet,  Almahide,  to  let  you  see  your  pow'r. 

Your  lov'd  Almanzor  shall  be  free  this  hour. 

You  are  obey'd;  but  'tis  so  great  a  grace 

That  I  could  wish  me  in  my  rival's  place. 

[Exeunt  King  and  Abenamar. 
Almah.     How  blest  was   I  before  this  fatal  day, 

When  all   I  knew  of  love,  was  to  obey! 
200  'Twas  life  becalm'd,  without  a  gentle  breath; 

Tho'  not  so  cold,  yet  motionless  as  death; 

A  heavy,  quiet  state;  but  love,  all  strife. 

All  rapid,  is  the  hurrican  of  life. 

Had  love  not  shown  me,  I  had  never  seen 

An  excellence  beyond  Boabdelin. 

I  had  not,  aiming  higher,  lost  my  rest; 

But  with  a  vulgar  good  been  dully  blest: 

But,  in  Almanzor,  having  seen  what's  rare, 

162.     dehas'd]    Q1Q2Q3.     debase  Q4Q5F. 


66  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Now  I  have  learnt  too  sharply  to  compare; 
210  And,  like  a  f av  'rite,  quickly  in  disgrace, 
Just  know  the  value  ere  I  lose  the  place. 

To  her  Almanzor,  hound  and  guarded. 

Almans.     I  see  the  end  for  which  I'm  hither  sent,     [LooTcing  down. 
To  double,  by  your  sight,  my  punishment. 
There  is  a  shame  in  bonds  I  cannot  bear; 
Far  more  than  death,  to  meet  your  eyes  I  fear. 

Almah.      [Unbinding  him.]     That  shame  of  long  continuance  shall 
not  be: 
The  king,  at  my  intreaty,  sets  you  free. 

Ahnanz.     The  king!     My  wonder  's  greater  than  before; 
How  did  he  dare  my  freedom  to  restore? 
220  He  like  some  captive  lion  uses  me; 
He  runs  away  before  he  sets  me  free, 
And  takes  a  sanctuary  in  his  court : 
I'll  rather  lose  my  life  than  thank  him   for  't. 

Almah.     If  any  subject  for  your  thanks  there  be, 
The  king  expects  'em  not,  you  owe  'em  me. 
Our  freedoms  thro'  each  other's  hands  have  pass'd; 
You  give  me  my  revenge  in  Avinning  last. 

Almanz.     Then  fate  commodiously  for  me  has  done; 
To  lose  mine  there  where  I  would  have  it  won. 
230        Almah.     Almanzor,  you  too  soon  will  understand, 
That  what  I  win  is  on  another's  hand. 
The  king  (who  doom'd  you  to  a  cruel  fate) 
Gave  to  my  pray'rs  both  his  revenge  and  hate; 
But  at  no  other  price  would  rate  your  life, 
Then  my  consent  and  oath  to  be  his  wife. 

Almans.     Would  you,  to  save  my  life,  my  love  betray?^ 
Here;   take  me;   bind  me;   carry  me  away;  >     [To  the 

Kill  me!    I'll  kill  you  if  you  disobey.  J      Guards. 

Almah.     That  absolute  command   your  love   does  give, 
240  I  take,  and  charge  you,  by  that  pow'r,  to  live. 

Alviayiz.     When   death,   the   last   of   comforts,   you   refuse, 
Your  pow'r,  like  heav'n  upon  the  damn'd,  you  use; 
You  force  me  in  my  being  to  remain, 
To  make  me  last,  and  keep  me  fresh  for  pain. 
■\\Tien  all  my  joys  are  gone. 
What  cause  can  I  for  living  longer  give, 
But  a  dull,  lazy  habitude  to  live? 

Almah.     Eash  men,  like  you,  and  impotent  of  will, 
Give  Chance  no  time  to  turn,  but  urge  her  still; 
250  She  would  repent;  you  push  the  quarrel  on,  ■         ' 

And  once  because  she  went,  she  must  be  gone. 

Almanz.     She  shall  not  turn;   what  is  it  she  can  do, 
To  recompense  me  for  the  loss  of  you? 

211.     fcnotP     .     .     .     lose]    Q1Q2Q3Q4.      know     .     .     .     lost    Q5P.      knew 
.     .     .     lost  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  67 

Ahnah.     Heav'n  will  reward  your  worth  some  better  way: 
At  least,  for  me,  you  have  but  lost  one  day. 
Nor  is  't  a  real  loss  which  you  deplore; 
You  sought  a  heart  that  was  ingag'd  before. 
'Twas  a  swift  love  which  took  you  in  his  way; 
Flew  only  thro'  your  heart,  but  made  no  stay: 
260  'Twas  but  a  dream,  where  truth  had  not  a  place; 
A  scene  of  fancy,  mov'd  so  swift  a  pace, 
And  shifted,  that  you  can  but  think  it  was: 
Let,  then,  the  short  vexatious  vision  pass. 

Almanz.     My  joys,  indeed,  are  dreams;   but  not  my  pain: 
'Twas  a  swift  ruin,  but  the  marks  remain. 
When  some  fierce  fire  lays  goodly  buildings  waste, 
Would  you  conclude 
There  had  been  none,  because  the  burning's  past? 

Ahnah.     It  was  your  fault  that  fire  seiz'd  all  your  breast; 
270  You  should  have  blown  up  some,  to  save  the  rest: 
But  'tis,  at  worst,  but  so  consum'd  by  fire, 
As  cities  are,  that  by  their  falls  rise  high'r. 
Build  love  a  nobler  temple  in  my  place; 
You'll  find  the  fire  has  but  inlarg'd  your  space. 

Almam.     Love  has  undone  me;   I  am  grown  so  poor, 
I  sadly  view  the  ground  I  had  before; 
But  want  a  stock,  and  ne'er  can  build  it  more. 

Almah.     Then  say  what  charity  I  can  allow; 
I  would  contribute,  if  I  knew   but  how. 
280  Take  friendship;  or,  if  that  too  small  appear, 
Take  love  which  sisters  may  to  brothers  bear. 

Almanz.     A  sister's  love!    That  is  so  pall'd  a  thing, 
What  pleasure  can  it  to  a  lover  bring? 
'Tis  like  thin  food  to  men  in  fevers  spent; 
Just  keeps  alive,  but  gives  no  nourishment. 
What  hopes,  what  fears,  what  transports  can  it  move? 
'Tis  but  the  ghost  of  a  departed  love. 

Almah.     You,   like  some   greedy  cormorant,   devour 
All  my  whole  life  can  give  you,  in  an  hour. 
290  What  more  I  can  do  for  you  is  to  die, 
And  that  must  follow,  if  you  this  deny. 
Since  I  gave  up  my  love,  that  you  might  live, 
You,  in  refusing  life,  my  sentence  give. 

Almanz.     Far   from   my   breast   be   such   an   impious   thought  I 
Your  death  would  lose  the  quiet  mine  had  sought. 
I'll  live  for  you,  in  spite  of  misery; 
But  you  shall  grant  that  I  had  lather  die. 
I'll  be  so  wretched,  fill'd  with  such  despair. 


} 


2.'i9.      no  iftay]   Qq.     to  xiny  F. 
266.      buil<li)u/s]    yig2Q:^Q4.      huililinp   Q.">K. 

269,  L'70.     Q^  omits  llirs(>  two  lines,  and  reads  in  lino  2il:      itnir  Ucaiis, 
at  irnyst.  but  80  consinn'il  hi/  fire. 

272.      falls]    QlQ2g:'..      fall   Q»Q5F.  ,  •   ,     o   v. 

281.      love  which]   yiQ3y4g5F,      lure,   uhich   Q2.      lore, — ic/Mt7»  SsM. 


68  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

That  you  shall  see  to  live  was  more  to  dare. 
300        Almah.     Adieu,  then,  O  my  soul's  far  better  part! 

Your  image  sticks  so  close 

That  the  blood  follows  from  my  rending  heart. 

A  last  farewell! 

For,  since  a  last  must  come,  the  rest  are  vain. 

Like  gasps  in  death,  which  but  prolong  our  pain. 

But,  since  the  king  is  now  a  part  of  me, 

Cease  from  henceforth  to  be  his  enemy. 

Go  now,  for  pity  go!    for,  if  you  stay, 

I  fear  I  shall  have  something  still  to  say, 

310  Thus 1   for  ever   shut  you   from   my  sight.  [Veils. 

Almans.     Like  one  thrust  out  in  a  cold  winter's  night, 

Yet  shivering,  underneath  your  gate  I  stay; 

One  look 1  cannot  go  before  'tis  day. 

[She  beclcons  him  to  be  gone. 

Not  one Farewell :    whate  'er  my  sufferings  be  ^ 

Within,   I'll  speak  farewell  as  loud  as  she:  r 

I  will  not  be  outdone  in  constancy. J  [She  turns  her  back. 

Then  like  a  dying  conqueror  I  go; 

At  least  I  have  look'd  last  upon  my  foe. 

I  go but  if  too  heavily  I  move, 

320  I  Avalk  encumber'd  with  a  weight  of  love. 

Fain  I  would  leave  the  thought  of  you  behind,  "| 

But  still,  the  more  I  cast  you  from  my  mind,  V 

You  dash,  like  water,  back,  when  thrown  against  the  wind.    J        [Exit. 

As  he  goes  of,  the  King  meets  him  with  Abenamar;  they  stare  at  each 

other  without  saluting. 
Boab.     With  him  go  all  my  fears.     A  guard  there  wait, 

And  see  him  safe  without  the  city  gate. 

To  them  Abdelmelech. 

Now,  Abdelmelech,  is  my  brother  dead? 

Abdelm.     Th'  usurper  to  the  Christian  camp  is  fled; 
Whom  as  Granada's  lawful  king  they  own. 
And  vow  by  force  to  seat  him  in  the  throne. 
330  Meantime  the  rebels  in  th'  Albayzin  rest; 
Which  is  in  Lyndaraxa's  name  possess'd. 

Boab.     Haste  and  reduce  it  instantly  by  force. 

Abdehn.     First  give  me  leave  to  prove  a  milder  course. 
She  will,  perhaps,  on  summons  yield  the  place. 

Boab.     We  cannot  to  your  suit  refuse  her  grace. 

[One  enters  hastily,  and  whispers  Abenamab. 

Aben.     How  fortune  persecutes  this  hoary  head! 
My  Ozmyn  is  with  Selin's  daughter  fled. 
But  he's  no  more  my  son : 
My  hate  shall  like  a  Zegry  him  pursue, 
340  Till  I  take  back  what  blood  from  me  he  drew. 


304      «   last]    Qqr.      the  last  SsM. 
329.     in]   QqF.     on  SsM. 


PART  I,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  69 

Boab.     Let  war  and  vengeance  be  to-morrow's  care; 
But  let  us  to  the  temple  now  repair. 
A  thousand  torches  make  the  mosque  more  bright : 
This  must  be  mine  and  Almahida's  night. 
Hence,  ye  importunate  affairs  of  state, 
You  should  not  tyrannize  on  love,  but  wait. 
Had  life  no  love,  none  would  for  business  live; 
Yet  still  from  love  the  largest  part  wc  give; 
And  must  be  forc'd,  in  empire's  weary  toil, 
350  To  live  long  wretched,  to  be  pleas'd  a  while.  [Exeunt. 


EPILOGUE 

Success,  which  can  no  more  than  beauty  last, 
Makes  our  sad  poet  mourn  your  favors  past : 
For,  since  without  desert  he  got  a  name, 
He  fears  to  lose  it  now  with  greater  shame. 
Fame,  like  a  little  mistress  of  the  town, 
Is  gain'd  with  ease,  but  then  she's  lost  as  sooa: 
For,  as  those  tawdry  misses,  soon  or  late, 
Jilt  such  as  keep  'em  at  the  highest  rate 
(And  oft  the  lackey,  or  the  brawny  clown, 

10     Gets  what  is  hid  in  the  loose-bodied  gown), — 
So,  Fame  is  false  to  all  that  keep  her  long; 
And  turns  up  to  the  fop  that's  brisk  and  young. 
Some  wiser  poet  now  would  leave  Fame  first. 
But  elder  wits  are  like  old  lovers  curst; 
Who,  when  the  vigor  of  their  youth  is  spent. 
Still  grow  more  fond,  as  they  grow  impotent. 
This,  some  years  hence,  our  poet's  case  may  prove; 
But  yet,  he  hopes,  he's  young  enough  to  love. 
When  forty  comes,  if  e'er  he  live  to  see 

20      That  wretched,  fumbling  age  of  poetry, 
'Twill  be  high  time  to  bid  his  Muse  adieu: 
Well  he  may  please  himself,  but  never  you. 
Till  then,  he'll  do  as  well  as  he  began. 
And  hopes  you  will  not  find  him  less  a  man. 
Think  him  not  duller  for  this  year's  delay; 
He  was  prepar'd,  the  women  were  away; 
And  men,  without  their  parts,  can  hardly  play 
If  they,  thro'  sickness,  seldom  did  appear,  "\ 
Pity  the  virgins  of  each  theater:  > 

30     For,  at  both  houses,  'twas  a  sickly  year!      J 
And  pity  us,  your  servants,  to  whose  cost, 
In  one  such  sickness,  nine  whole  months  are  lost, 
Their  stay,  he  fears,  has  ruin'd  what  he  writ; 
Long  waiting  both  disables  love  and  wit. 
They  thought  they  gave  him  leisure  to  do  well; 
But,  when  they  forc'd  him  to  attend,  he  fell! 
Yet,  tho'  he  much  has  fail'd,  he  begs,  to-day. 
You  will  excuse  his  unperforming  play: 
Weakness  sometimes  great  passion  does  express; 

40     He  had  pleas'd  better,  had  he  lov'd  you  less. 


} 


22.     ^yell  he  may}  Q1Q4Q5F.     Well,  he  may  Q2Q3.     Well  may  he  SsM 

70 


THE 

CONQUEST  OF  GHANADA 

BY  THE 

SPANIARDS 
PART  II 

-Stimulos  dedit  CBinula  virtus. 

LucAN,  Pharsalia,  i.  120. 


PROLOGUE 


TO    THE    SECOND    PART 


They  who  write  ill,  and  they  who  ne'er  durst  write, 

Turn  critics,  out  of  mere  revenge  and  spite: 

A  playhouse  gives  'em  fame;  and  up  there  starts, 

From  a  mean  fifth-rate  wit,  a  man  of  parts. 

(So  common  faces  on  the  stage  appear; 

We  take  'em  in,  and  they  turn  beauties  here.) 

Our  author  fears  those  critics  as  his  fate; 

And  those  he  fears,  by  consequence,  must  hate, 

For  they  the  traffic  of  all  wit  invade, 

10       As  scriv'ners  draw  away  the  bankers'  trade. 
Howe'er,  the  poet's  safe  enough  to-day; 
They  cannot  censure  an  unfinish'd  play. 
But,  as  when  vizard-mask  appears  in  pit. 
Straight  every  man  who  thinks  himself  a  wit 
Perks  up,  and,  managing  his  comb  with  grace, 
With  his  white  wig  sets  off  bis  nut-brown  face; 
That  done,  bears  up  to  th'  prize,  and  views  each  limb. 
To  know  her  by  her  rigging  and  her  trim; 
Then,  the  whole  noise  of  fops  to  wagers  go: 

20       "Pox  on  her,  't  must  be  she;"  and:  "Damme,  no!" — 
Just  so,  I  prophesy,  these  wits  to-day 
Will  blindly  guess  at  our  imperfect  play; 
With  what  new  plots  our  Second  Part  is  fill'd, 
Who  must  be  kept  alive,  and  who  be  kill'd. 
And  as  those  vizard-masks  maintain  that  fashion. 
To  soothe  and  tickle  sweet  imagination; 
So  our  dull  poet  keeps  you  on  with  masking, 
To  make  you  think  there's  something  worth  your  asking. 
But,  when  'tis  shown,  that  which  does  now  delight  you 

30       Will  prove  a  dowdy,  with  a  face  to  fright  you. 

17.     up  to  th'  prize]  QqF,     up  th'  prize  Ss.     up  to  the  prize  M. 


72 


ALMANZOR  AND  ALMAHIDE 

OB 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Part  II 

ACT  I 

SCENE  1.—A  Camp. 

King  Ferdinand,  Queen  Isabel,  Alonzo  d'Aguilar;  Attendants,  Men 

and  Women. 

K.  Ferd.     At  length  the  time  is  come  when  Spain  shall  be 

From  the  long  yoke  of  Moorish  tyrants  free. 

All  causes  seem  to  second  our  design, 

And  heav'n  and  earth  in  their  destruction  join. 

When  empire  in  its  childhood  first  appears, 

A  watchful  fate  o'ersees  its  tender  years; 

Till,  grown  more  strong,  it  thrusts  and  stretches  out, 

And  elbows  all  the  kingdoms  round  about : 

The  place  thus  made  for  its  first  breathing  free, 
10  It  moves  again  for  ease  and  luxury; 

Till,  swelling  by  degrees,  it  has  possess'd 

The  greater  space,  and  now  crowds  up  the  rest; 

When,  from  behind,  there  starts  some  petty  state. 

And  pushes  on  its  now  unwieldy  fate; 

Then  down  the  precipice  of  time  it  goes, 

And  sinks  in  minutes,  which  in  ages  rose. 

Q.  Isabel.     Should  bold  Columbus  in  his  search  succeed, 

And  find  those  beds  in  which  bright  metals  breed; 

Tracing  the  sun,  who  seems  to  steal  away, 
20  That,  miser-like,  he  might  alone  survey 

The  wealth  which  he  in  western  mines  did  lay: 

Not  all  that  shining  ore  could  give  my  heart 

The  joy  this  eonquer'd  kingdom  will  impart; 

Which,  rescued  from  these  misbelievers'  hands, 

Shall  now,  at  once,  shake  off  its  double  bands: 

At  once  to  freedom  and  true  faith  rcstor'd, 

24.     these]  QqF.     the  SsM. 

73 


J 


} 


74  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

Its  old  religion  and  its  ancient  lord. 

K.  Ferd.     By  that  assault  which  last  we  made,  I  find 
Their  courage  is  with  their  success  declin'd : 
30  Almanzor's  absence  now  they  dearly  buy, 

Whose  conduct  crown'd  their  arms  with  victory. 

Alonzo.     Their  king  himself  did  their  last  sally  guide; 
I  saw  him,  glist'ring  in  bright  armor,  ride 
To  break  a  lance  in  honor  of  his  bride: 
But  other  thoughts  now  fill  his  anxious  breast; 
Care  of  his  crown  his  love  has  dispossess'd. 

To  them  Abdalla. 

Q.  Isabel.     But  see  the  brother  of  the  Moorish  king: 
He  seems  some  news  of  great  import  to  bring. 

K.  Ferd.     He  brings  a  specious  title  to  our  side: 
40  Those  who  would  conquer  must  their  foes  divide. 

Abdal.     Since  to  my  exile  you  have  pity  shown, 
And  giv'n  me  courage  yet  to  hope  a  throne; 
While  you  without  our  common  foes  subdue, 
I  am  not  wanting  to  myself  or  you; 
But  have,  within,  a  faction  still  alive, 
Strong  to  assist,  and  secret  to  contrive. 
And  watching  each  occasion  to  foment 
The  people's  fears  into  a  discontent; 
Which,  from  Almanzor's  loss,  before  were  great, 
50  And  now  are  doubled  by  their  late  defeat : 
These  letters  from  their  chiefs  the  news  assures. 

[Give  letters  to  the  King, 

K.  Ferd.     Be  mine  the  honor,  but  the  profit  yours. 

To  them  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  with  Ozmyn  and  Benzayda,  Prisoners. 

E.  Ferd.     That  tertia  of  Italians  did  you  guide, 
To  take  their  post  upon  the  river  side? 

D.  Arcos.     All  are  according  to  your  orders  plac'd: 
My  cheerful  soldiers  their  intrenchments  haste; 

The  Murcian  foot  have  ta'en  the  upper  ground, 
And  now  the  city  is  beleaguer'd  round. 

K.  Ferd.     Why  is  not  then  their  leader  here  again? 
60        D.  Arcos.     The  master  of  Alcantara  is  slain; 
But  he  who  slew  him  here  before  you  stands: 
It  is  that  Moor  whom  you  behold  in  bands. 

E.  Ferd.     A  braver  man  I  had  not  in  my  host; 
His  murd'rer  shall  not  long  his  conquest  boast : 
But,  Duke  of  Arcos,  say,  how  was  he  slain? 

D.  Arcos.     Our  soldiers  march'd  together  on  the  plain; 
We  two  rode  on,  and  left  them  far  behind. 
Till,  coming  where  we  found  the  valley  wind. 
We  saw  these  Moors;  who,  swiftly  as  they  could, 

57.     have]  QqF.     hath  SsM. 


PAET  II,  ACT  I,  SCENE  I  75 

70  Kan  on  to  gain  the  covert  of  the  wood. 

This  we  observ'd;  and,  having  cross'd  their  way, 
The  lady,  out  of  breath,  was  forc'd  to  stay: 
The  man  then  stood,  and  straight  his  fauchion  drew; 
Then  told  us,  we  in  vain  did  those  pursue 
Whom  their  ill  fortune  to  despair  did  drive, 
And  yet,  whom  we  should  never  take  alive. 
Neglecting  this,  the  master  straight   spurr'd  on; 
But  th'  active  Moor  his  horse's  shock  did  shun, 
And,  ere  his  rider  from  his  reach  could  go, 
80  Finish'd  the  combat  with  one  deadly  blow. 
I,  to  revenge  my  friend,  prepar'd  to  fight; 
But  now  our  foremost  men  were  come  in  sight. 
Who  soon  would  have  dispatch'd  him  on  the  place, 
Had  I  not  sav'd  him  from  a  death  so  base. 
And  brought  him  to  attend  your  royal  doom. 

K.  Ferd.     A  manly  face,  and  in  his  age's  bloom; 
But,  to  content  the  soldiers,  he  must  die: 
Go,  see  him  executed  instantly. 

Q.  Isabel.     Stay;  I  would  learn  his  name  before  he  go: 
90  You,  Prince  Abdalla,  may  the  pris'ner  know. 

Abdal.     Ozmyn's  his  name,  and  he  deserves  his  fate; 
His  father  heads  that  faction  which  I  hate: 
But  much  I  wonder  that  I  with  him  see 
The  daughter  of  his  mortal  enemy. 

Bens.      'Tis  true:    by  Ozmyn's  sword  my  brother  fell; 
But  'twas  a  death  he  merited  too  well. 
I  know  a  sister  should  excuse  his  fault ; 
But  you  know  too  that  Ozmyn's  death  he  sought. 

Abdal.     Our  prophet  has  declar'd,  by  the  event, 
100  That  Ozmyn  is  reserv'd  for  punishment; 

For,  when  he  thought  his  guilt  from  danger  clear, 
He,  by  new  crimes,  is  brought  to  suffer  here. 

Bern.     In  love,  or  pity,  if  a  crime  you  find. 
We  too  have  sinn'd  above  all  humankind. 

Oim.     Heav'n  in  my  punishment  has  done  a  grace; 
I  couid  not  suffer  in  a  better  place: 
That  I  should  die  by  Christians  it  thought  good. 
To  save  your  father's  guilt,  who  sought  my  blood.  [To  her. 

Bern.     Fate  aims  so  many  blows  to  make  us  fall, 
110  That  'tis  in  vain  to  think  to  ward  'em  all: 
And,  where  misfortunes  great  and  many  are. 
Life  grows  a  burden,  and  not  worth  our  care. 

Ozm.     I  cast  it  from  me,  like  a  garment  torn 
Eagged,  and  too  undecent  to  be  worn : 
Besides,  there  is  contagion  in  my  fate; 
It  makes  your  life  too  much  unfortunate. 
But,  since  her  faults  are  not  allied  to  mine, 

106.     be<fc/]  Q2Q.3Q4Q5F.     hettcra  Ql. 


76  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

In  her  protection  let  your  favor  shine. 
To  you,  great  queen,  I  make  this  last  request 
120  (Since  pity  dwells  in  every  royal  breast), 
Safe,  in  your  care,  her  life  and  honor  be: 
It  is  a  dying  lover's  legacy. 

Benz.     Cease,  Ozmyn,  cease  so  vain  a  suit  to  move; 
I  did  not  give  you  on  those  terms  my  love. 
Leave  me  the  care  of  me;  for,  when  you  go, 
My  love  will  soon  instruct  me  what  to  do. 

Q.  Isabel.     Permit  me,  sir,  these  lovers'  doom  to  give: 
My  sentence  is,  they  shall  together  live. 
The  courts  of  kings 
130  To  all  distress'd  should  sanctuaries  be, 
But  most  to  lovers  in  adversity. 
Castile  and  Aragon, 

Which  long  against  each  other  war  did  move, 
My  plighted  lord  and  I  have  join'd  by  love; 
And,  if  to   add  this  conquest  heav'n  thinks  good, 
I  would  not  have  it  stain'd  with  lovers'  blood. 

K.  Ferd.     Whatever   Isabella  shall  command 
Shall  always  be  a  law  to  Ferdinand. 

Bern.     The  frowns  of  fate  we  will  no  longer  fear. 
140  III  fate,  great  queen,  can  never  find  us  here. 

Q.  Isabel.     Your  thanks  some  other  time  I  will  receive; 
Henceforward  safe  in  my  protection  live. 
Granada  is  for  noble  loves  renown'd: 
Her  best  defense  is  in  her  lovers  found. 
Love's  a  heroic  passion  which  can  find 
No  room  in  any  base  degenerate  mind: 
It  kindles  all  the  soul  with  honor's  fire, 
To  make  the  lover  worthy  his  desire. 
Against  such  heroes  I  success  should  fear, 
150  Had  we  not  too  an  host  of  lovers  here. 
An  army  of  bright  beauties  come  with  me; 
Each  lady  shall  her  servant's  actions  see: 
The  fair  and  brave  on  each  side  shall  contest; 
And  they  shall  overcome,  who  love  the  best.  [Exeunt  omnes. 

SCENE  II.— The  Alhamhra. 

ZULEMA   solus. 

Zul.     True,  they  have  pardon'd  me;   but  do  they  know 
What  folly  'tis  to  trust  a  pardon'd  foe? 
A  blush  remains  in  a  forgiven  face: 
It  wears  the  silent  tokens  of  disgrace. 
Forgiveness  to  the  injur'd  does  belong; 
But  they  ne'er  pardon  who  have  done  the  wrong. 


144.  Her  best]    Qq.     Here  best  F. 

145.  o]  Ql.     an  Q2Q3y4Q5F  SsM. 


PART  II,  ACT  I,  SCENE  II  77 

My  hopeful  fortune's  lost!    and,  what's  above 
All  I  can  name  or  think,  my  ruin'd  love! 
Feign'd  honesty  shall  work  me  into  trust, 
10  And  seaming  penitence  conceal  my   lust. 

Let  heav'n's  great  eye  of  Providence  now  take 
One  day  of  rest,  and  ever  after  wake. 

Enter  King  Boabdelin,  Abenamar,  and  Guards. 

Boah.     Losses  on  losses!    as  if  heav'n  decreed 
Almanzor's  valor  should  alone  succeed. 

Aben.     Each  sally  we  have  made,  since  he  is  gone, 
Serves  but  to  pull  our  speedy  ruin  on. 

Boab.     Of  all  mankind,  the  heaviest  fate  he  bears 
Who  the  last  crown  of  sinking  empire  wears. 
No  kindly  planet  of  his  birth  took  care: 
20  Heav'n's  outcast,  and  the  dross  of  every  star! 

[A  tumultuous  noise  within. 

Enter  Abdelmelech. 

What  new  misfortune  do  these  cries  presage? 

Abdelm.     They  are  th'  effects  of  the  mad  people's  rage. 
All  in  despair  tumultuously  they  swarm: 
The  farthest  streets  already  take  th'  alarm; 
The  needy  creep  from  cellars  under  ground; 
To  them  new  cries  from  tops  of  garrets  sound; 
The  aged  from  the  chimneys  seek  the  cold; 
And  wives  from  windows  helpless  infants  hold. 

Boab.     See  what  the  many-headed  beast  demands.        [Exit  Abdelm. 
SO  Curst  is  that  king  whose  honor's  in  their  hands. 
In  senates,  either  they  too   slowly  grant, 
Or  saucily  refuse  to  aid  my  want ; 
And,  when   their  thrift  has  ruin'd  me  in  war. 
They  call  their  insolence  my  want  of  care. 

Aben,     Curst   be  their  leaders,  who   that   rage   foment, 
And  veil,  with  public  good,  their  discontent: 
They  keep  the  people's  purses  in  their  hands, 
And  hector  kings  to  grant  their  wild  demands; 
But  to  each  lure  a  court  throws  out,  descend, 
40  And  prey  on  those  they  promis'd  to  defend. 

Zul.     Those  kings  who  to  their  wild  demands  consent 
Teach  others  the  same  way  to  discontent. 
Freedom  in  subjects  is  not,  nor  can  be; 
But  still,  to  please  'em,  we  must  call  'em  free. 
Propriety,  which  they  their  idol   make, 
Or  law,  or  law's  interpreters,  can  shake. 

Aben.     The  name  of  commonwealth  is  popular; 
But  there  the  people  their  own  tyrants  are. 

Boab.     But   kings   wlio    rule   with    limited   commnnd 

7.      fortune's]   QqF.     fortunes  SsM. 


78  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

50  Have  players'  scepters  put  into  their  hand. 

Pow 'r  has  no  balance;  one  side  still  weighs  down, 
And  either  hoists  the  commonwealth   or  crown; 
And  those  who  think  to  set  the  scale  more  right, 
By  various  turnings  but  disturb  the  weight. 

Aben.     While  people  tug  for  freedom,  kings  for  pow'r, 
Both  sink  beneath  some  foreign  conqueror: 
Then  subjects  find  too  late  they  were  unjust, 
And  want  that  pow'r  of  kings  they  durst  not  trust. 

To   them  Abdelmelech. 

Ahdelm.     The  tumult  now  is  high  and  dangerous  grown: 
60  The  people  talk  of  rend'ring  up  the  town; 

And  swear  that  they  will  force  the  king's  consent. 

Boab.     What  counsel  can  this  rising  storm  prevent? 

Abdclm.     Their  fright  to  no   persuasions  will  give  ear: 
There's  a  deaf  madness  in  a  people's  fear. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.     Their  fury  now  a  middle  course  does  take; 
To  yield  the  town,  or  call  Almanzor  back. 

Boab.     I'll  rather  call  my  death. — 
Go,  and  bring  up  my  guards  to  my  defense: 
I'll  punish  this  outrageous  insolence. 
70        Abe7i.     Since  blind  opinion  does  their  reason  sway, 
You  must  submit  to  cure  'em  their  own  way. 
You  to  their  fancies  physic  must  apply; 
Give  them  that  chief  on  whom  they  most  rely. 
Under   Almanzor  prosperously   they   fought; 
Almanzor,  therefore,  must  with  pray'rs  be  brought. 

Enter  a  second  Messenger. 

Sec.  Mess.     Haste  all  you  can  their  fury  to  assuage: 
You  are  not  safe  from  their  rebellious  rage. 

Enter  a  third  Messenger. 

Third  Mess.     This  minute,  if  you  grant  not  their  desire. 
They'll  seize  your  person,  and  your  palace  fire. 
80        Abdelm.     Your  danger,  sir,  admits  of  no  delay. 

Boab.     In  tumults,  people  reign,  and  kings  obey. — 
Go  and  appease  'em  with  the  vow  I  make, 

That  they  shall  have  their  lov'd  Almanzor  back.  {Exit  Abdelm. 

Almanzor  has  th'  ascendant  o'er  my  fate; 
I'm  forc'd  to  stoop  to  one  I  fear  and  hate: 
Disgrac'd,  distress'd,  in  exile,  and  alone, 
He's  greater  then  a  monarch  on  his  throne. 
Without  a  realm,  a  royalty  he  gains; 
Kings  are  the  subjects  over  whom  he  reigns. 

{A  shout  of  acclamations  within, 
90        Aben.     These  shouts  proclaim  the  people  satisfied. 


.  PART  II,  ACT  I,  SCENE  II  79 

Boah.     We  for  another  tempest  must  provide. 
To  promise  his  return  as  I  was  loth, 
So  1  want  pow'r  now  to  perform  my  oath. 
Ere  this,  for  Afric  he  is  sail'd  from   Spain. 

Ahen.     The  adverse  winds  his  passage  yet  detain; 
I  heard,  last  night  his  equipage  tlid  stay 
At  a  small  village,  short  of  Malaga. 

Boah.     Abenamar,  this  ev'ning  thither  haste; 
Desire  him  to  forget  his  usage  past: 
100  Use  all  your  rhet'ric,  promise,  flatter,  pray. 

To  them  Queen  Almahide,  attended. 

Ahen.     Good  fortune  shows  you  yet  a  surer  way: 

Nor  pray'rs  nor  promises  his  mind  will  move; 

'Tis  inaccessible  to  all  but  love. 

Boa}).     0,  thou  hast  rous'd  a  thought  within  my  breast, 

That  will  for  ever  rob  me  of  my  rest. 

Ah  jealousy,  how  cruel  is  thy  sting! 

1,  in  Almanzor,  a  lov'd  rival  bring! 

And  now,  I  think  it  is  an  equal  strife. 

If  I  my  crown  should  hazard,  or  my  wife. 
110  Where,  marriage,  is  thy  cure,  which  husbands  boast, 

That  in  possession  their  desire  is  lost? 

Or  why  have  I  alone  that  wretched  taste 

Which,  gorg'd  and  glutted,  does  with  hunger  last? 

Custom  and  duty  cannot  set  me  free, 

Ev'n  sin  itself  has  not  a  charm  for  me. 

Of  married  lovers  I   am  sure  the  first, 

And  nothing  but  a  king  could  so  be  curst. 

Almah.     What  sadness  sits  upon  your  royal  heart? 

Have  you  a  grief,  and  must  not  I  have  part? 
120  Ail  creatures  else  a  time  of  love  possess: 

Man   only   clogs   with   cares   his   happiness; 

And,  while  he  should  enjoy  his  part  of  bliss, 

With  thoughts  of  what  may  be,  destroys  what  is. 

Boah.     You  guess'd  aright;   I  am  oppress'd  with  grief, 

And    'tis  from  you  that  I  must  seek  relief. 

Leave  us;  to  sorrow  there's  a  rev'rcnce  due:  [To  the  company. 

Sad  kings,  like  suns  eclips'd,  withdraw  from  view. 

[Tlic  Attendants  go  off,  and  chairs  arc  set  for  the  King  and  Queen. 
Almah.     So  two  kind  turtles,  when  a  storm  is  nigh, 

Look  ui>,  and  see  it  gath'ring  in  the  sky: 
130  Each  calls  his  mate  to  shelter  in  the  groves, 

Leaving,  in  murmurs,  their  unfinish'd  loves: 

Perch'd  on  some  dropping  branch,  they  sit  alone, 

117.  so  6c]   QqF.      be  so  SsM. 

124.  gnesu'd]    QqF.      giicnn   SsM. 

127.  withihair]    ()i.\.      irithilrairn    F,   by   a   misprint. 

131.  murinuin]    Ql.      iniirmiira<  Q2Q:{.      murmur  Q4Q5F   SsM. 

132,  dropping]   QqF.     drooping  SsM, 


80  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

And  coo,  nnrl  hearken  to  each  other's  moan. 

Boab.  [Taking  her  by  the  hmid.]    Since,  Almahide,  you  seem  so  kind 
a  wife, 
What  ■n-ould  you  do  to  save  a  husband's  life? 

Almah.     When  fate  calls  on  that  hard  necessity, 
I'll  suffer  death,  rather  than  you  shall  die. 

Boab.     Suppose  your  country  should  in  danger  be; 
What  would  you  undertake  to  set  it  free? 
140        Almah.     It  were  too  little  to  resign  my  breath: 
My  own  free  hand  should  give  me  nobler  death. 

Boab.     That  hand,  which  would  so  much  for  glory  do, 
Must  yet  do  more;   for  it  must  kill  me  too. 
You  must  kill  me,  for  that  dear  country's  sake; 
Or,  what's  all  one,  must  call  Almanzor  back. 

Almah.     I  see  to  what  your  speech  you  now  direct; 
Either  my  love  or  virtue  you  suspect. 
But  know  that,  when  my  person  1  resign'd, 
I  was  too  noble  not  to  give  my  mind. 
150  No  more  the  shadow  of  Almanzor  fear; 
I  have  no  room,  but  for  your  image,  here. 

Boab.     This,  Almahide,  would  make  me  cease  to  mourn, 
Were  that  Almanzor  never  to  return : 
But  now  my  fearful  people  mutiny; 
Their  clamors  call  Almanzor  back,  not  I. 
Their  safety,  thro'  my  ruin,  I  pursue; 
He  must  return,  and  must  be  brought  by  you. 

Almah.     That  hour  when  I  my  faith  to  you  did  plight, 
I  banish'd  him  for  ever  from  my  sight, 
160  His  banishment  was  to  my  virtue  due; 
Not  that  I  fear'd  him  for  myself,  but  you. 
My  honor  had  preserv'd  me  innocent: 
But  I  would  your  suspicion  too  prevent; 
Which  since  1  see  augmented  in  your  mind, 
I  yet  more  reason  for  his  exile  find. 

Boab.     To  your  intreaties  he  will  yield  alone, 
And  on  your  doom  depend  my  life  and  throne. 
No  longer,  therefore,  my  desires  withstand; 
Or,  if  desires  prevail  not,  my  command. 
170        Almah.     In  his  return  too  sadly  I  foresee 
Th'  effects  of  your  returning  jealousy. 
But  your  command  I  prize  above  my  life; 
'Tis  sacred  to  a  subject  and  a  wife: 
If  I  have  pow'r,  Almanzor  shall  return. 

Boab.     Curst  be  that  fatal  hour  when  I  was  born! 

[Letting  go  her  hand,  and  starting  up. 
You  love,  you  love  him;  and  that  love  reveal 
By  your  too  quick  consent  to  his  repeal. 


163      too    prevent]     QqF.     to    prevent    SsM.    introducing    what    Professor 
Saintsbury  rightly  calls  "a  singular  construction."  ii"ie&»ui 


PART  II,  ACT  I,  SCENE  II  81 

My  jealousy  had  but  too  just  a  ground; 

And  now  you  stab  into  my  former  wound. 
180        Almah.     This  sudden  change  I  do  not  understand. 

Have  you  so  soon  forgot  your  own  ooniniand? 

Boab.     Grant  that  I  did  th'  unjust  injunction  lay, 

You  should  have  lov'd  me  more  then  to  obey. 

I  know  you  did  this  mutiny  design; 

But  your  love-plot  I'll  quickly  countermine. 

Let  my  crown  go;  he  never  shall  return; 

I,  like  a  phnenix,  in  my  nest  will  burn. 

Almah.     You  please  me  well,  that  in  one  common  fate 

You  wrap  yourself,  and  me,  and  all  your  state. 
190  Let  us  no  more  of  proud  Almanzor  hear; 

'Tis  better  once  to  die,  than  still  to  fear; 

And  better  many  times  to  die  than  be 

Oblig'd  past  payment  to  an  enemy. 

Boab.      'Tis  better;   but  you  wives  still  have  one  way: 

Whene'er  your  husbands  are  oblig'd,  you  pay. 

Almah.     Thou,  Heav'n,  who  know'st  it,  judge  my  innocence! 

You,  sir,  deserve  not  I  should  make  defense. 

Yet,  judge  my  virtue  by  that  proof  I  gave 

When  I  submitted  to  be  made  your  slave. 
200        Boab.     If  I  have  been  suspicious  or  unkind, 

Forgive  me;  many  cares  distract  my  mind: 

Love,  and  a  crown ! 

Two  such  excuses  no  one  man  e'er  had ; 

And  each  of  'em  enough  to  make  me  mad: 

But  now  my  reason  reassumes  its  throne. 

And  finds  no  safety  when  Almanzor's  gone. 

Send  for  him  then;  I'll  be  oblig'd,  and  sue; 

'Tis  a  less  evil  than  to  part  with  you. 

I  leave  you  to  your  thoughts;  but  love  me  still  1 
210  Forgive  my  passion,  and  obey  my  will.  [Exit  Boabdelin. 

Almahide  sola. 

My  jealous  lord  will  soon  to  rage  return; 
That  fire  his  fear  rakes  up  does  inward  burn. 
But  Heav'n,  which  made  me  great,  has  chose  for  me; 
I  must  th'  oblation  for  my  people  be. 
I'll  cherish  honor,  then,  and  life  despise; 
What  is  not  pure,  is  not  for  sacrifice. 
Yet  for  Almanzor  I  in  secret  mourn! 
Can  virtue,  then,  admit  of  his  return? 
Yes;  for  my  love  I  will  by  virtue  square; 
220  My  heart's  not  mine,  but  all  my  actions  are. 
I'll  like  Almanzor  act;  and  dare  to  be 
As  haughty,  and  as  wretched  too,  as  he. 

185.     your  love-ptot  I'll]  QqF.     I'll  ynur  love-plot  SsM. 
194.     still  have]   yqF.     haw  still  SsM. 


82  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

What  Avill  he  think  is  in  my  message  meant? 

I  scarcely  understand  my  own  intent: 

But,  silkworm-like,  so  long  within  have  wrought, 

That  I  am  lost  in  my  own  web  of  thought.  [Exit  Almahide. 

ACT  II 

SCENE  I.— A  Wood. 
OzMYN  and  Benzayda. 

Osm.     'Tis  true  that  our  protection  here  has  been 
Th'  effect  of  honor  in  the  Spanish  queen; 
But  while  I  as  a  friend  continue  here, 
I  to  my  country  must  a  foe  appear. 

Bens.     Think  not,  my  Ozmyn,  that  we  here  remain 
As  friends,  but  pris'ners  to  the  pow"r  of  Spain. 
Fortune  dispenses  with  your  country's  right; 
But  you  desert  your  honor  in  your  flight. 

Osm.     I  cannot  leave  you  here,  and  go  away; 
10  My  honor's  glad  of  a  pretense  to  stay. 

[A  noise  loithin — "Follow,  follow,  follow!" — 

Enter  Selin,  his  sicord  drawn,  as  pursued. 

Selin.     I  am  pursued,  and  now  am  spent  and  done; 
My  limbs  suffice  me  not  with  strength  to  run. 
And,  if  I  could,  alas!  what  can  I  save? 
A  year,  the  dregs  of  life  too,  from  the  grave. 

Here  will  I  sit,  and  here  attend  my  fate,        "^   [Sits  down  on  the  ground. 
With  the  same  hoary  majesty  and  state,  V 

As  Eome's  old  senate  for  the  Gauls  did  wait.  J 

Bens.     It  is  my  father;  and  he  seems  distress'd. 

Osm.     My  honor  bids  me  succor  the  oppress'd; 
20  That  life  he  sought  for  his  I'll  freely  give; 
We'll  die  together,  or  together  live. 

Bens.     I'll  call  more  succor,  since  the  camp  is  near. 
And  fly  on  all  the  wings  of  love  and  fear.  [Exit  Benz. 

Enter  Abenamar,  and  four  or  five  Moors.    He  loolcs  and  finds  Selin. 

Aben.     Ye've  liv'd,  and  now  behold  your  latest  hour. 

Selin.     I  scorn  your  malice,  and  defy  your  pow'r. 
A  speedy  death  is  all  I  ask  you  now; 
And  that's  a  favor  you  may  well  allow. 

Osm.     [Shewing  himself.}     Who  gives  you  death,  shall  give  it  first 
to  me; 

Fate  cannot  separate  our  destiny. 

30  [Knoirs  his  father.}     My  father  here!     Then  heav'n  itself  has  laid 
The  snare  in  which  my  virtue  is  betray'd. 

Aben.     Fortune,  I  thank  thee!      Thou  hast  kindly  done. 


24.     ye're]  QqF.     You've  SsM, 


PART  II,  ACT  II,  SCENE  I  83 

To  bring  me  back  that  fugitive,  my  son; 
In  arms  too;  fighting  for  my  enemy! 
I'll  do  a  Roman  justice — thou  shalt  die! 

Osm.     I  beg  not  you  my  forfeit  life  would  save; 
Yet  add  one  minute  to  that  breath  you  gave. 
I  disobey 'd  you,  and  deserve  my  fate; 
But  bury  in  my  grave  two  houses'  hate. 
40  Let  Selin  live;  and  see  your  justice  done 
On  me,  while  you  revenge  him  for  his  son: 
Your  mutual  malice  in  my  death  may  cease, 
And  equal  loss  persuade  you  both  to  peace. 

Aben.     [to  a  Soldier.]     Yes,  justice  shall  be  done  on  him  and  thee. 
Haste,  and  dispatch  'em  both  immediately. 

Ozm.     If  you  have  honor — since  you  nature  want — 
For  your  own  sake  my  last  petition  grant; 
And  kill  not  a  disarm'd,  defenseless  foe, 
Whose  death  your  cruelty,  or  fear,  will  show. 
50  My  father  cannot  do  an  act  so  base: 

My  father! — I  mistake — I  meant,  who  was. 

Aben.     Go,  then,  dispatch  him  first  who  was  my  son! 

Osm.     Swear  but  to  save  his  life,  I'll  yield  my  own. 

Aben.     Nor  tears,  nor  pray'rs,  thy  life,  or  his,  shall  buy. 

Osm.  [Putting  himself  before  Selin.]     Then,  sir,  Benzayda's  father 
shall  not  die! 
And,  since  he'll  want  defense  when  I  am  gone, 
I  will,  to  save  his  life,  defend  my  own. 

Aben.     This  justice  parricides  like  thee  should  have! 

[Abex.  and  his  party  attack  them  both.    Ozm.  parries  his  father's 
thrusts,  and  thrusts  at  the  others. 

Enter  Benzayda,  ivith  Abdalla,  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  and  Spaniards. 

Bern.     0  help  my  father,  and  my  Ozmyn  save! 
60        Abdal.     Villains,  that  death  you  have  deserv'd  is  near! 

Ozm.  [Stops  his  hand.]    Stay,  prince!  and  know,  I  have  a  father  here! 
I  were  that  parricide  of  whom  he  spoke, 
Did  not  my  piety  prevent  your  stroke. 

D.  Arcos.     [to  Aben.]    Depart,  then,  and  thank  heav'n  you  had  a  son. 
Aben.    I  am  not  with  these  shows  of  fluty  won. 

Ozm.     [to  his  Father.]     Heav'n  knows  I  would  that  life  you  seek 
resign; 
But,  while  Benzayda  li%-es,  it  is  not  mine. 
Will  you  yet  pardon  my  unwilling  crime? 

Aben.     By  no  intreaties,  by  no  length  of  time, 
70  Will  I  be  won ;  but,  with  my  latest  breath, 
I'll  curse  thee  here,  and  haunt  thee  after  death. 

[Exit  Aben.  with  his  party. 
Ozm.  [Kneeling  to  Selin.]     Can  you  be  merciful  to  that  degree. 
As  to  forgive  my  father's  faults  in  me? 

38.     deserve]   QqF.     deserved  SsM. 


84  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Can  you  forgive 

The  death  of  him  I  slew  in  my  defense, 
And  from  the  malice  separate  th'  oflfenscf 
I  can  no  longer  be  your  enemy: 

In  short,  now  kill  me,  sir,  or  pardon  me.  [Offers  him  his  sword. 

In  this  your  silence  my  hard  fate  appears. 
80        Selin.     I'll  answer  you  when  I  can  speak  for  tears. 
But,  till  I  can, 

Imagine  what  must  needs  be  brought  to  pass;  [Embraces  him. 

My  heart's  not  made  of  marble,  nor  of  brass. 
Did  I  for  you  a  cruel  death  prepare. 
And  have  you, — have  you,  made  my  life  your  carel 
There  is  a  shame  contracted  by  my  faults, 
Which  hinders  me  to  speak  my  secret  thoughts. 
And  I  will  tell  you  (when  that  shame's  remov'd), 
You  are  not  better  by  my  daughter  lov'd. 
90  Benzayda  be  yours. — I  can  no  more. 

Ozm.   [Embracing  his  knees.]     Blest  be  that  breath  which  does  my 
life  restore! 

Bens.     I  hear  my  father  now ;  these  words  confess 
That  name,  and  that  indulgent  tenderness. 

Selin.     Benzayda,  I  have  been  too  much  to  blame j 
But  let  your  goodness  expiate  for  my  shame: 
You  Ozmyn's  virtue  did  in  chains  adore, 
And  part  of  me  was  just  to  him  before. 
My  son! 

Ozm.     My  father! 

Selin.  Since  by  you  I  live, 

I,  for  your  sake,  your  family  forgive. 
100  Let  your  hard  father  still  my  life  pursue; 
I  hate  not  him,  but  for  his  hate  to  you. 
Ev'n  that  hard  father  yet  may  one  day  be 
By  kindness  vanquish'd,  as  you  vanquish'd  me; 
Or,  if  my  death  can  quench  to  you  his  rage, 
Heav'n  makes  good  use  of  my  remaining  age. 

Abdal.     1  grieve  your  joys  are  mingled  with  my  cares; 
But  all  take  interest  in  their  own  affairs; 
And,  therefore,  I  must  ask  how  mine  proceed. 

Selin.     They  now  are  ripe,  and  but  your  presence  need: 
110  For  Lyndaraxa,  faithless  as  the  wind. 
Yet  to  your  better  fortunes  will  be  kind; 
For,  hearing  that  the  Christians  own  your  cause, 
From  thence  th'  assurance  of  a  throne  she  draws. 
And  since  Almanzor,  whom  she  most  did  fear, 
Is  gone,  she  to  no  treaty  will  give  ear; 
But  sent  me  her  unkindness  to  excuse. 

Abdal.     You  much  surprise  me  with  your  pleasing  news. 

Selin.     But,  sir,  she  hourly  does  th'  assault  expect; 


88.     when  thaf]  QqF.     when  the  SsM. 


PAKT  II,  ACT  II,  SCENE  I  85 

And  must  be  lost,  if  you  her  aid  neglect: 
120  For  Abdelmeleeh  loudly  does  declare, 

He'll  use  the  last  extremities  of  war. 

Since  she  refus'd  the  fortress  to  resign. 

Abdal.     The  charge  of  hastening  this  relief  be  mine. 
Selin.     This  while  I  undertook,  whether  beset, 

Or  else  by  chance,  Abenamar  I  met; 

Who  seem'd  in  haste  returning  to  the  town. 

Abdal.     My  love  must  in  my  diligence  be  shown. 

And,  [to  Arcos]  as  my  pledge  of  faith  to  Spain,  this  hour 

I'll  put  the  fortress  in  your  master's  pow'r. 
130        Selin,     An  open  way  from  hence  to  it  there  lies, 

And  we  with  ease  may  send  in  large  supplies. 

Free  from  the  shot  and  sallies  of  the  town. 

D.  Arcos.     Permit  me,  sir,  to  share  in  your  renown; 

First  to  my  king  I  will  impart  the  news, 

And  then  draw  out  what  succors  we  shall  use.  [Exit  Duke  of  Arcos. 

Abdal.     [Aside.]     Grant  that  she  loves  me  not,  at  least  I  see 

She  loves  not  others,  if  she  loves  not  me. 

'Tis  pleasure,  when  we  reap  the  fruit  of  pain: 

'Tis  only  pride,  to  be  belov'd  again. 
140  How  many  are  not  lov'd,  who  think  they  arel 

Yet  all  are  willing  to  believe  the  fair; 

And,  tho'  'tis  beauty's  known  and  obvious  cheat, 

Yet  man's  self-love  still  favors  the  deceit.  [Exit  Abdal. 

Selin.     Farewell,  my  children,  equally  so  dear, 

That  1  myself  am  to  myself  less  near! 

While  I  repeat  the  dangers  of  the  war. 

Your  mutual  safety  be  each  other's  care. 

Your  father,  Ozmyn,  till  the  war  be  done, 

As  much  as  honor  will  permit,  I'll  shun: 
150  If  by  his  sword  I  perish,  let  him  know 

It  was  because  I  would  not  be  his  foe. 

Osm.     Goodness  and  virtue  all  your  actions  guide; 

You  only  err  in  choosing  of  your  side. 

That  party  I,  with  honor,  cannot  take; 

But  can  much  less  the  care  of  you  forsake: 

I  must  not  draw  my  sword  against  my  prince, 

But  yet  may  hold  a  shield  in  your  defense. 

Benzayda,  free  from  danger,  here  shall  stay. 

And  for  a  father  and  a  lover  pray. 
160        Benz.     No,  no!  I  gave  not  on  those  terms  my  heart. 

That  from  my  Ozmyn  I  should  ever  part : 

That  love  I  vow'd,  when  you  did  death  attend, 

'Tis  just  that  nothing  but  my  death  should  end. 

What  merchant  is  it  who  would  stay  behind, 

His  whole  stock  ventur'd  to  the  waves  and  wind? 


122.     Since  she  refus'd]    Q1Q2Q3Q4.     Since  she  refuse  Q5.     //  she  refuse 
F  BsM. 


86  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

I'll  pray  for  both,  but  both  shall  be  in  sight; 
And  Heav'n  shall  hear  me  pray,  and  see  you  fight. 

Selin.     No  longer,  Ozmyn,  combat  a  design 
"Where  so  much  love  and  so  much  virtue  join. 
170        Oz7n.  [To  her.]     Then  conquer,  and  your  conquest  happy  be, 
Both  to  yourself,  your  father,  and  to  me. 
With  bended  knees  our  freedom  we'll  demand 
Of  Isabel  and  mighty  Ferdinand: 
Then,  while  the  paths  of  honor  we  pursue. 
We'll  int'rest  Heav'n  for  us,  in  right  of  you.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  II.— The  Albaysin. 

An  alarm  within;  then  Soldiers  running  over  the  stage.    Enter 

Abdelmelech,  victorious,  with  Soldiers. 

Abdelm.     'Tis  won,  'tis  won!  and  Lyndaraxa,  now, 
Who  scorn'd  to  treat,  shall  to  a  conquest  bow. 
To  every  sword  I  free  commission  give; 
Fall  on,  my  friends,  and  let  no  rebel  live. 
Spare  only  Lyndaraxa ;   let  her  be 
In  triumph  led,  to  grace  my  victory. 
Since  by  her  falsehood  she  betray'd  my  love, 
Great  as  that  falsehood  my  revenge  shall  prove. 

Enter  Lyndaraxa,  as  affrighted,  attended  by  women. 

Go,  take  th'  enchantress,  bring  her  to  me  bound! 
10        Lyndar.    Force  needs  not,  where  resistance  is  not  found; 

I  come,  myself,  to  offer  you  my  hands; 

And,  of  my  own  accord,  invite  your  bands. 

I  wish'd  to  be  my  Abdelmelech's  slave; 

I  did  but  wish,  and  easy  fortune  gave. 

Abdelm.     O  more  then  woman  false! — but  'tis  in  vain. 

Can  you  e'er  hope  to  be  believ'd  again"? 

I'll  sooner  trust  th'  hyena  than  your  smile; 

Or,  than  your  tears,  the  weeping  crocodile. 

In  war  and  love  none  should  be  twice  deceiv'd; 
20  The  fault  is  mine  if  you  are  now  believ'd. 

Lyndar.     Be  overwise,  then,  and  too  late  repent; 

Your  crime  will   carry  its  own   punishment. 

I  am  well  pleas'd  not  to  be  justified; 

I  owe  no  satisfaction  to  your  pride. 

It  will  be  more  advantage  to  my  fame, 

To  have  it  said  I  never  own'd  a  flame. 

Abdelm.     'Tis  true,  my  pride  has  satisfied  itself: 

I  have  at  length  escap'd  the  deadly  shelf. 

Th'  excuses  you  prepare  will  be  in  vain, 
30  Till   I  am  fool  enough  to  love  again. 
Lyndar.     Am  I  not  lov'd? 

Scene  II.]     The  scenes  are  not  numbered  in  OaP. 


PART  II,  ACT  II,  SCENE  II  87 

Abdelm.  I  must,  with  shame,  avow 

I  lov'd  you  once;   but  do  not  love  you  now. 

Lyndar.    Have  I  for  this  betray'd  Abdalla's  trust? 
You  are  to  me,  as  I  to  him,  unjust.  [Angrily. 

Abdeh7i.      'Tis  like  you  have  done  much  for  love  of  me, 
Who   kept   the   fortress   for   my   enemy. 

Lyndar.     'Tis  true,   I  took  the  fortress  from  his  hand; 
But,  since,  have  kept  it  in  my  own  command. 

Abdelm.    That  act  your  foul  ingratitude  did  show. 
40        Lyndar.     You  are  th'  ungrateful,  since  'twas  kept  for  you. 

Abdelm.     'Twas  kept  indeed;  but  not  by  your  intent: 
For  all  your  kindness  I  may  thank  th'  event. 
Blush,  Lyndaraxa,  for  so  gross  a  cheat : 
'Twas  kept  for  me,  when  you  refus'd  to  treat!  [Ironically. 

Lyndar.     Blind  man!   I  knew  the  weakness  of  the  place: 
It  was  my  plot  to  do  your  arms  this  grace. 
Had  not  my  care  of  your  renown  been  great, 
I  lov'd  enough  to  offer  you  to  treat. 
She  who  is  lov'd  must  little  lets  create ; 
50  But  you  bold  lovers  are  to  force  your  fate. 
This  force  you  us'd  my  maiden  blush  will  save; 
You  seem'd  to  take,  what  secretly  I  gave. 
I  knew  we  must  be  conquer'd ;   but   I  knew 
What   confidence  I  might   repose  in   you. 
I  knew  you  were  too  grateful  to  expose 
My  friends  and  soldiers  to  be  us'd  like   foes. 

Abdelm.     Well,  tho'  I  love  you  not,  their  lives  shall  be 
Spar'd  out  of  pity  and  humanity. —  [To  a  Soldier. 

Alferez,  go,  and  let  the  slaughter  cease.  [Exit  the  Alferez. 

60         Lyndar.    Then  must  I  to  your  pity  owe  my  peace? 
Is  that  the  tender'st  term  you  can  afford? 
Time  was,  you  would  have  us'd  another  word. 

Abdelm.     Then,  for  your  beauty  I  your  soldiers  spare; 
For,  tho'  I  do  not  love  you,  you  are  fair. 

Lyndar.     That  little  beauty  why  did  heav'n  impart. 
To  please  your  eyes,  but  not  to  move  your  heart ! 
I'll  shroud  this  gorgon  from  all  human  view, 
And  own  no  beauty,  since  it  cliarms  not  you! 
Reverse   your  orders,   and   our   sentence    give ; 
70  My  soldiers  shall  not  from  my  beauty  live. 

Abdelm.     Then,  from  your  friendship  they  their  lives  shall  gain; 
Tho'   love  be   dead,  yet   friendship   does   remain. 

Lyndar.     That  friendship  which  from  wither'd  love  does  shoot, 
Like  the  faint  herbage  of  a  rock,  wants  root. 
Love  is  a  tender  amity,  refin'd : 
Grafted  on  friendship  it  exalts  the  kind. 

36.  1or}   QqF.     nf  SsM. 

61.  tender'st}  QlQli(i."'.Q4.     trndrcHt  Qr.F.     iendcrcxt  SsM. 

69.  our  sentence]   QlQ-Q'^Q-ll^s-     your  sentence  Q5FM. 

74.  of  a  rock]   Q(iF.     on  a  rock  SsM.  • 


88  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

But  when  the  graff  no  longer  does  remain, 
The  dull  stock  lives,  but  never  bears  again. 

Abdelm.     Then,  that  my  friendship  may  not  doubtful  prove, — 
80  Fool  that  I  am  to  tell  you  so! — I  love. 

You  would  extort  this  knowledge  from  my  breast, 

And  tortur'd  me  so  long  that  I  confess'd. 

Now  I  expect  to  suffer  for  my  sin; 

My  monarchy  must  end,  and  yours  begin. 

Lyndar.     Confess  not  love,  but  spare  yourself  that  shame, 
And  call  your  passion  by  some  other  name. 
Call  this  assault  your  malice  or  your  hate; 
Love  owns  no  acts  so   disproportionate. 
Love  never  taught  this  insolence  you  show, 
90  To  treat  your  mistress  like  a  conquer'd  foe. 

Is  this  th'  obedience  which  my  heart  should  move? 
This  usage  looks  more  like  a  rape  than  love. 

Abdelm.     What  proof  of   duty  would  you   I  should  give? 

Lyndar.     'Tis  grace  enough  to  let  my  subjects  live! 
Let  your  rude  soldiers  keep  possession  still; 
Spoil,   rifle,    pillage,   anything   but    kill. 
In  short,  sir,  use  your  fortune  as  you  please; 
Secure  my  castle,   and   my  person   seize; 
Let   your   true   men   my   rebels   hence   remove: 
100  I  shall  dream  on,  and  think  'tis  all  your  love! 

Abdelm.    You  know  too  well  my  weakness  and  your  pow'r: 
"Why  did  heav'n  make  a  fool  a  conqueror! 
She  was  my  slave,  till  she  by  me  was  shown 
How  weak  my  force  was,  and  how  strong  her  own. 
Now  she  has  beat  my  pow'r  from  every  part, 

Made  her  way  open  to  my  naked  heart:  [To  a  Soldier. 

Go,  strictly  charge  my  soldiers  to  retreat; 
Those  countermand  who  are  not  enter'd  yet. 

On  peril  of  your  lives  leave  all  things  free.  [Exit  Soldier. 

110  Now,   madam,  love   Abdalla   more   than   me. 
I  only  ask,  in  duty  you  would  bring 
The  keys  of  our  Albayzin  to  the  king: 
I'll  make  your  terms  as  gentle  as  you  please. 

[Trumpets  so^ind  a  charge  within,  and  soldiers  shout. 
What  shouts,  and  what  new  sounds  of  war  are  these? 

Lyndar.     Fortune,  I  hope,  has  favor'd  my  intent,  [Aside. 

Of  gaining  time,  and  welcome  succors  sent. 

Enter  Alferez. 

Alferez.     All's  lost,  and  you  are  fatally  deceiv'd: 
The  foe  is  enter'd,  and  the  place  reliev'd. 
Scarce  from  the  walls  had  I  drawn  off  my  men, 


89.  Love  never,  etc.]  After  this  line  or  the  next  QqF  have  a  stage- 
direction  [Alferez].  This  is  apparently  a  mistake,  since  the  Alferez  who  haa 
departed,  p.  87,  1.  60,  enters  again  after  line  116,  below. 


PAET  ir,  ACT  II,  SCENE  II  89 

120  When,  from  their  camp,  the  enemy  rush'd  in, 

And  Prince  Abdalla  onter'd  first  the  gate. 

Abdelm.     I  am  betray'd,  and  find  it  now  too  late. 

When  your  proud  soul  to  flatt'ries  did  descend,  [To  her. 

I  might  have  known  it  did  some  ill  portend. 

The  wary  seaman  stormy  weat-her  fears 

When  winds  shift  often,  and  no  cause  appears. 

You  by  my  bounty  live 

Your  brothers,  too,  were  pardon'd  for  my  sake. 

And  this  return  your  gratitude  does  make. 
130        Lyndar.     IMy  brothers  best  their  own  obligements  know, 

Without  your  charging  me  with  what  they  owe. 

But,  since  you  think  th'  obligement  is  so  great, 

I'll  bring  a  friend  to  satisfy  my  debt.  [Looking  behind. 

Abdelm.     Thou  shalt  not  triumph  in  thy  base  design; 

Tho'  not  thy  fort,  thy  person  shall  be  mine. 

[He  goes  to  tale  her:  she  runs  and  cries  out  help. 

Enter  Abdalla,  Arcos,  Spaniards.  Abdelmelech  retreats 
fighting,  and  is  pursued  by  the  adverse  party  of  the  stage. 
An  alarm  within. 

Enter  again  Abdalla  and  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  with 
Lyndaraxa. 

D.  Arcos.     Bold  Abdelmelech  twice  our  Spaniards  fae'd, 
Tho'  much  outnumbcr'd ;   and  retreated  last. 

Abdal.  [2'o  Lyndaraxa.]     Your  beauty,  as  it  moves  no  common  fire, 
So  it  no  common  courage  can  inspire. 
140  As  he  fought  well,  so  had  he  prosper'd   too. 
If,  madam,  he,  like  me,  had  fought  for  you. 

Lyndar.     Fortune,  at  last,  has  chosen  with  my  eyes; 
And,  where  I  would  have  giv'n  it,  plac'd  the  prize. 
You  see,  sir,  with  what  hardship  1  have  kept 
This  precious  gage,  which  in  my  hands  you  left. 
But  "twas  the  love  of  you  which  made  me  fight. 
And    gave   me   courage   to   maintain   your   right. 
Now,  by  experience,  you  my  faith  may  find. 
And  are  to  thank  me  that  I  sccm'd  unkind. 
150  When  your  malicious  fortune  doom'd  your  fall, 
My  care  restrain'd  you  then  from  losing  all; 
Against  your  destiny  I  shut  the  gate. 
And  gather'd  up  the  shipwracks  of  your  fate; 
I,  like  a  friend,  did  ev'n  yourself  withstand 
From  throwing  all  upon  a  losing  hand. 

Abdal.     My  love  makes  all  your  acts  unquestion'd  go, 

12.'').      icrt/j/l    Q1Q2Q;{Q4.      vrnr;/  Q.")F. 

l."50.     obli(jcmcnt8    ktiow]    Qlu2Q;5y4.      ohliocmcnt    knous    Q").      obligement 
know  FSsM. 

135.     Tho'    .    .    .     mine]  omitted  in  F. 


90  THE  C0NQTJ1EST  OF  GRANADA 

And  sets  a  sovereign  stamp  on  all  you  do. 
Your  love  I  will  believe  with  hoodwink'd  eyes; 
In  faith,  much  merit  in  much  blindness  lies. 
160  But  now,  to  make  you  great  as  you  are  fair,  "^ 

The  Spaniards  an  imperial  crown  prepare.  >■ 

Lyiular.     That  gift's  more  welcome,  which  with  you  I  share.     J 
Let  us  no  time  in  fruitless  courtship  lose, 
But  sally  out  upon  our  frighted  foes. 
No  ornaments  of  pow'r  so  please  my  eyes. 
As  purple  which  the  blood  of  princes  dyes.       [Exeunt;  he  leading  her. 


SCENE  III.— The  Alhambra. 

BoABDELiN,  Abenamar,  Almahide,  Guards,  4'c.     The 
Queen  wearing  a  scarf. 

Ahen.     My  little  journey  has  successful  been; 
The  fierce  Almanzor  will  obey  the  queen. 
I   found   him,   like   Achilles  on   the   shore. 
Pensive,  complaining  much,  but  threat'ning  more; 
And,  like  that  injur'd  Greek,  he  heard  our  woes, 
Which  while  1  told,  a  gloomy  smile  arose 
From  his  bent  brows:  and  still,  the  more  he  heard, 
A  more  severe  and  sullen  joy  appear'd. 
But,  when  he  knew  we  to  despair  were  driv'n, 
10  Betwixt  his  teeth  he  mutter'd  thanks  to  heav'n. 

Boab.     How  I  disdain  this  aid,  which  I  must  take, 
Not  for  my  own,  but  Almahida's  sake! 

Ahen.     But  when  he  heard  it  was  the  queen  who  sent, 
That  her  command  repeal'd  his  banishment, 
He  took  the  summons  with  a  greedy  joy, 
And  ask'd  me  how  she  would  his  sword  employ: 
Then  bid  me  say,  her  humblest  slave  would  come 
From  her  fair  mouth  ^yith  joy  to  take  his  doom. 

Boab.     O  that  I  had  not  sent  you!  tho'  it  cost 
20  My  crown!    tho'  I,  and  it,  and  all  were  lost! 

Ahen.     While   I,   to   bring   this   news,   came  on  before, 
I  met  with  Selin 

Boab.  I  can  hear  no  more. 

Enter  Hamet. 

Hamet.     Almanzor  is  already  at  the  gate. 
And  throngs  of  people  on  his  entrance  wait. 

Boab.     Thy  news  does  all  my  faculties  surprise; 
He  bears  two   basilisks   in   those   fierce   eyes; 


12.     yot  for]   Q2Q.3Q4QuF.     Xo  for  Ql,  by  a  misprint. 
24.     on]  Qq.     at  F. 


.} 


PABT  II,  ACT  II,  SCENE  III  91 

And  that  tame  daemon  which  should  guard  my  throne 
Shrinks  at  a  genius  greater  than  his  own. 

[Exit  BoAB.  mth  Aben.  and  Guards. 

Enter  Almanzor;   seeing  Almahide  approach  him,  he  speaks. 

Almanz.    So  Venus  moves,  when  to  the  Thunderer, 
30  In  saiiles  or  tears,  she  would  some  suit  prefer; 

When  with  her  cestos  girt, 

And  drawn  by  doves,  she  cuts  the  liquid  skies. 

And  kindles  gentle  fires  where'er  she  flies: 

To  every  eye  a  goddess  is  confess'd, 

By  all  the  heav"nly  nation  she  is  blest. 

And  each  with  secret  joy  admits  her  to  his  breast. 

Madam,  your  new  commands  I  come  to  know,  [To  her,  howing. 

If  yet  you  can  have  any  where  I  go : 

If  to  the  regions  of  the  dead  they  be, 
40  You  take  the  speediest  course,  to  send  by  me. 

Almah.     Heav'n  has  not  destin'd  you  so  soon  to  rest: 

Heroes  must  live  to  succor  the  distress'd. 

Almanz.     To  serve  such  beauty  all  mankind  should  live; 

And,  in  our  service,  our  reward  you  give. 

But  stay  me  not  in  torture,  to  behold 

And  ne'er  enjoy.     As  from  another's  gold 

The  miser  hastens  in  his  own  defense. 

And  shuns  the  sight  of  tempting  excellence; 

So,  having  seen  you  once  so  killing  fair, 
50  A  second  sight  were  but  to  move  despair. 

I  take  my  eyes  from  what  too  much  would  please. 

As  men  in  fevers  famish  their  disease. 

Almah.     No;  you  may  find  your  cure  an  easier  way, 

If  you  are  pleas'd  to  seek  it, — in  your  stay. 

All  objects  lose  by  too  familiar  view, 

When  that  great  charm  is  gone,  of  being  new; 

By  often  seeing  me,  you  soon  will  find 

Defects  so  many,  in  my  face  and  mind, 

That  to  be  freed  from  love  you  need  not  doubt; 
60  And,  as  you  look'd  it  in,  you'll  look  it  out. 

Aintam.     I  rather,  like  weak  armies,  should  retreat, 

And  so  prevent  my  more  entire  defeat. 

For  your  own  sake  in  quiet  let  me  go ; 

Press  not  too  far  on  a  despairing  foe: 

I  may  turn  back,  and  arm'd  against  you  move, 

With  all  the  furious  train  of  hopeless  love. 

Almah.    Your  honor  cannot  to  ill  thoughts  give  way. 

And  mine  can  run  no  hazard  by  your  stay. 

Almanz.    Do  you  then  think  I  can  with  patience  see 
70  That  sov'reign  good  possess'd,  and  not  by  me? 

No;  I  all  day  shall  languish  at  the  sight, 

27.     da-mon  Q4Q5F.     demon  QlQlig:^. 
30.     would  Qq.     should  F. 


92  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

And  rave  on  Avhat  I  ilo  not  see,  all  night; 
My  quick   imagination   will   present 
The  scenes  and  images  of  your  content, 
When  to  my  envied  rival  you  dispense 
Joys  too  unruly  and  too  fierce  for  sense. 

Almah.     These  are  the  day-dreams  which  wild  fancy  yields, 
Empty  as  shadows  are  that  fly  o'er  fields. 
O,  whether  would  this  boundless  fancy  move  I 
80  'Tis  but  the  raging  calenture  of  love. 
Like  the  distracted  passenger  you  stand, 
And  see,  in  seas,  imaginary  land, 
Cool  groves,  and  flow'ry  meads;  and  while  you  think 
To  walk,  plunge  in,  and  wonder  that  you  sink. 

Almanz.    Love's  calenture  too  well  I  understand; 
But  sure  your  beauty  is  no  fairyland ! 
Of  your  own  form  a  judge  you  cannot  be; 
For,  glowworm-like,  you  shine,  and  do  not  see. 

Almah.    Can  you  think  this,  and  would  you  go  awayf 
90        Almanz.     What  recompense  attends  me  if  I  stay? 

Almah.     You  know  I  am  from  recompense  debarr'd. 
But  I  will  grant  you  merit  a  reward; 
Your  flame's  too  noble  to  deserve  a  cheat, 
And  I  too  plain  to  practice  a  deceit. 
I  no  return  of  love  can  ever  make, 
But  what  I  ask  is  for  my  husband's  sake; 
He,  I  confess,  has  been  ungrateful  too, 
But  he  and  I  are  ruin  'd  if  you  go : 
Your  virtue  to  the  hardest  proof  I  bring; — 
100  Unbrib'd,  preserve  a  mistress  and  a  king. 

Almanz.     I'll  stop  at  nothing  that  appears  so  brave: 
I'll  do  't,  and  know  I  no  reward  will  have. 
You've  given  my  honor  such  an  ample  field 
That  I  may  die,  but  that  shall  never  yield. 
Spite  of  myself  I'll  stay,  fight,  love,  despair; 
And  I  can  do  all  this,  because  I  dare. 
Yet  I  may  own  one  suit — 

That  scarf,  which,  since  by  you  it  has  been  borne. 
Is  blest,  like  relics  which  by  saints  were  worn. 
110        Almah.     Presents  like   this  my  virtue   durst   not   make. 

But  that  'tis  giv'n  you  for  my  husband's  sake.  {Gives  the  sc(irf. 

Almanz.     This  scarf  to  honorable  rags  I'll  wear, 
As  conqu'ring  soldiers  tatter'd  ensigns  bear; 
But  O,  how  much  my  fortune  I  despise. 
Which  gives  me  conquest,  while  she  love  denies!  [Exeunt. 

75,  76.      When    .    .    .    sense]  Omittrd  in  Q.'F. 

79.  whether]    Q1Q2Q3.      whither  Q4Q5F.      The   variation   recurs   later,   p. 
100,  1.  93. 

81.  the]   Q1Q2Q.'?Q4.     a  Q.5F  SsM.  ^ 

83.  ftoic'ri/]    Q3Q4Q.5F.     ftou'rs  Q1Q2  bv  a  misprint. 

92.  U'lU   frrit]   0102:):'.Ss.      your  merit  <)40r)FM. 

102.  know]  now  QqF  SsM.     Cf.  p.  63,  1.  104;  p.  193,  1.  112. 


PART   II,  ACT  III,  SCENE  I  93 

ACT  III 
SCENE  I.— The  Alhambra. 

Almahide,  Esperanza. 

Esper.    Affected  modesty  has  much  of  pride; 
That  scarf  he  begg'd,  you  could  not  have  denied; 
Nor  does  it  shock  the  virtue  of  a  wife, 
When  giv'n  that  man  to  whom  you  owe  your  life. 

Almah.     Heav'n  knows  from  all  intent  of  ill  'twas  free, 
Yet  it  may  feed  my  husband's  jealousy; 
And  for  that  cause  I  wish  it  were  not  done. 

To  them  Boabdelin,  and  walls  apart. 

See  where  he  comes,  all  pensive  and  alone; 
A  gloomy  fury  has  o'erspread  his  face: 
10  'Tis  so!   and  all  my  fears  are  come  to  pass. 

Boab  [Aside.]     Marriage,  thou  curse  of  love,  and  snare  of  life, 
That  first  debas'd  a  mistress  to  a  wife! 
Love,  like  a  scene,  at  distance  should  appear. 
But  marriage  views  the  gross-daub'd  landscape  near. 
Love's  nauseous  cure!    Thou  cloy'st  whom  thou  shouldst  please; 
And,  when  thou  cur'st,  then  thou  art  the  disease. 
When  hearts  are  loose,  thy  chain  our  bodies  ties; 
Love  couples  friends,  but  marriage  enemies. 
If  love  like  mine  continues  after  thee, 
20  "Tis  soon  made  sour,  and  turn'd  by  jealousy; 
No  sign  of  love  in  jealous  men  remains. 
But  that  which  sick  men  have  of  life — their  pains. 

Almah.    [Walking   to   him.]      Has   my   dear  lord   some   new  affliction 
had? 
Have  I  done  anything  that  makes  him  sad? 

Boab.     You!  nothing:  you!    But  let  me  walk  alone! 

Almah.     I  will  not  leave  you  till  the  cause  be  known: 
My  knowledge  of  the  ill  may  bring  relief. 

Boab.     Thank  ye;  you  never  fail  to  cure  my  grief! 
Trouble  me  not,  my  grief  concerns  not  you. 
30        Almah.     While  I  have  life,  I  will  your  stops  pursue. 

Boab.     I'm  out  of  humor  now;  you  must  not  stay. 

Almah.     I  fear  it  is  that  scarf  I  gave  away. 

Boab.     No,  'tis  not  that — but  speak  of  it  no  more: 
Go  hence!    I  am  not  what  I  was  before. 

Almah.     Then  I  will  make  you  so;   give  me  your  hand! 
Can  you  tliis  pressing  and  those  tears  withstand? 

Boab.   [Highing,  and  going  off  from  her.]      O  heav'n,  were  she  but 
mine,  or  mine  alone! 
Ah,  why  are  not  the  hearts  of  women  known! 
False  women  to  now  joys  unseen  can  move; 
40  There  are  no  prints  left  in  the  paths  of  love. 
All  goods  besides  by  public  marks  are  known ; 


94  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

But  what  we  most  desire  to  keep,  has  none. 

Almah.  [Approaching  hiin.]     Why  will  you  in  your  breast  your  pas- 
sion crowd, 

liike  unborn  thunder  rolling  in  a  cloud? 

Torment  not  your  poor  heart,  but  set  it  free, 

And  rather  let  its  fury  break  on  me, 

I  am  not  married  to  a  god;  I  know 

Men  must  have   passions,  and  can  bear  from  you. 

I  fear  th'  unlucky  present  I  have  made! 
50         Boob.     O  pow'r  of  guilt!  how  conscience  can  upbraid! 

It  forces  her  not  only  to  reveal, 

But  to  repeat  what  she  would  most  conceal! 

Almah.     Can  such  a  toy,  and  giv'n  in  public  too 

Boab.     False  woman,  you  contriv'd  it  should  be  so. 

That  public  gift  in  private  was  design'd 

The  emblem  of  the  love  you  meant  to  bind. 

Hence   from   my  sight,   ungrateful  as   thou   art! 

And,  when  I  can,  I  '11  banish  thee  my  heart.  [She  weeps. 

To  them  Almanzor  icearing  the  Scarf.    He  sees  her  weep. 

Almans.     What  precious  drops  are  those, 
60  Which  silently  each  other's  track  pursue, 

Bright  as  young  diamonds  in  their  infant  dew? 
Your  luster  you  should  free  from  tears  maintain, 
Like   Egypt,   rich  without  the  help   of  rain. 
Now  curst  be  he  who  gave  this  cause  of  grief; 
And  double  curst,  who  does  not  give  relief! 

Almah.     Our  common   fears,  and  public  miseries, 
Have  drawn  these  tears  from  my  afflicted  eyes. 

Almanz.     Madam,  I  cannot  easily  believe 
It  is  for  any  public  cause  you  grieve. 
70  On  your  fair  face  the  marks  of  sorrow  lie; 
But  I  read  fury  in  your  husband's  eye : 
And,  in  that  passion,  I  too  plainly  find 
That  you're  unhappy,  and  that  he's  unkind, 

Almah.     Not  new-made  mothers  greater  love  express 
Than  he,  when  with  first  looks  their  babes  they  bless; 
Not  heav'n  is  more  to  dying  martyrs  kind, 
Nor  guardian  angels  to  their  charge  assign'd. 

Boab.     O  goodness  counterfeited  to  the  life! 
O  the  well-acted  virtue  of  a  wife! 
80  Would  you  with  this  my  just  suspicions  blind? 
You've  given  me  great  occasion  to  be  kind! 
The  marks,  too,  of  your  spotless  love  appear; 
Witness  the  badge  of  my  dishonor  there. 

[Pointing  to  Almanzor's  scarf. 

Almanz.     Unworthy  owner  of  a  gem  so  rare! 
Heav  'ns,  why  must  he  possess,  and  T  despair ! 
Why  is  this  miser  doom'd  to  all  this  store; 
He  who  has  all,  and  yet  believes  he's  poor? 


PART  II,  ACT  III,  SCENE  1  95 

Almah.  [To  Almanz.]     You're  much  too  bold,  to  blame  a  jealousy 
So  kind  in  him,  and  so   desir'd  by  me. 
90  The  faith  of  wives  would  unrewarded  prove, 
Without  those  just  observers  of  our  love. 
The  greater  care  the  higher  passion  shows; 
We  hold  that  dearest  we  most  fear  to  lose. 
Distrust  in  lovers  is  too  warm  a  sun, 
But  yet  "tis  night  in  love  when  that  is  gone; 
And  in  those  climes  which  most  his  scorching  know. 
He  makes  the  noblest  fruits  and  metals  grow. 

Almanz.    Yes;  there  are  mines  of  treasure  in  your  breast, 
Seen  by  that  jealous  sun,  but  not  possess'd. 
100  He,  like  a  dev  '1  among  the  blest  above,  1 

Can  take  no  pleasure  in  your  heaven  of  love.     > 

Go,  take  her,  and  thy  causeless  fears  remove;  j  [To  the  King. 

Love  her  so  well,  that  I  with  rage  may  die :  ^ 
Dull  husbands  have  no  right  to  jealousy;  > 

If  that's  allow'd,  it  must  in  lovers  be.  J 

Boab.     The  succor  which  thou  bring'st  me  makes  thee  bold: 
But  know,  Avithout  thy  aid,  my  crown  I'll  hold; 
Or,  if  I  cannot,  I  will  fire  the  place; 
Of  a  full  city  make  a  naked  space. 
110  Hence,  then,  and  from  a  rival  set  me  free! 
I'll  do,  I'll  suffer  anything  but  thee. 

Almanz.     I  wonnot  go;  I'll  not  be  forc'd  away: 
I  came  not  for  thy  sake,  nor  do  I  stay. 
It  was  the  queen  who  for  my  aid  did  send; 
And  'tis  I  only  can  the  queen  defend : 
I,  for  her  sake,  thy  scepter  will  maintain; 
And  thou,  by  me,  in  spite  of  thee,  shalt  reign. 

Boab.     Had  I  but  hope  I  could  defend  this  place 
Three  days,  thou  shouldst  not  live  to  my  disgrace. 
120  So  small  a  time 

Might  I  possess  my  Almahide  alone, 

I  would  live  ages  out  ere  they  were  gone. 

I  should  not  be  of  love  or  life  bereft ; 

All  should  be  spent  before,  and  nothing  left. 

Almah.  [To  Boab.]     As  for  your  sake  I  for  Almanzor  sent, 
So,  when  you  please,  he  goes  to  banishment. 
You  shall,  at  last,  my  loyalty  approve: 
I  will  refuse  no  trial  of  my  love. 

Boab.    How  can  I  think  you  love  me,  while  I  see 
130  That  trophy  of  a  rival's  victory? 
I'll  tear  it   from  his  side. 

Almanz;.  I'll  hold  it  fast 

As  life,  and  when  life's  gone.  111  hold  this  last; 
And,  if  thou  tak'st  it  after  I  am  slain, 
I'll  send  my  ghost  to  fetch  it  back  again. 

88.     much  loo]  QqF.     too  much  SsM. 


96  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

Almdh.    When  I  bestow'd  that  scarf,  I  had  not  thought, 
Or  not  consider'd  it  might  be  a  fault; 
But,  since  my  lord's  displeas'd  that  I  should  make 
So  small  a  present,  I  command  it  back. 
Without  delay  th'  unlucky  gift  restore; 
140  Or,  from  this  minute,  never  see  me  more. 

Almam.  [Fulling  it  off  hastily,  and  presenting  it  to  her.]     The  shock 
of  such  a  curse  I  dare  not  stand: 
Thus  I  obey  your  absolute  command.  [She  gives  it  to  the  King. 

Must  he  the  spoils  of  scorn'd  Almanzor  wear? — 
May  Turnus'  fate  be  thine,  who  dar'd  to  bear 
The  belt  of  murder'd  Pallas;   from  afar 
Mayst  thou  be  known,  and  be  the  mark  of  war! 
Live  just  to  see  it  from  thy  shoulders  torn 
By  common  hands,  and  by  some  coward  worn.  [A71  alarm  within. 

Enter  Abdelmelech,  Zulema,  Hamet,  Abenamar; 
their  swords  drawn. 

Abdelm.     Is  this  a  time  for  discord  or  for  grief? 
150  We  perish,  sir,  without  your  quick  relief. 
I  have  been  fool'd,  and  am  unfortunate; 
The  foes  pursue  their  fortune,  and  our  fate. 

Zul.     The  rebels  with  the  Spaniards  are  agreed. 
Boab.     Take  breath;   my  guards  shall  to  the  fight  succeed. 
Aben.  [To  Almanzor.]     Why  stay  you,  sir?     The  conqu'ring  foe  is 
near: 
Give  us  their  courage,  and  give  them  our  fear. 

Hamet.     Take  arms,  or  we  must  perish  in  your  sight. 
Almanz.     I  care  not:  perish;  for  I  will  not  fight. 
I  wonnot  lift  an  arm  in  his  defense: 
160  And  yet  I  wonnot  stir  one  foot  from  hence. 
I  to  your  king's  defense  his  town  resign; 
This  only  spot,  whereon  I  stand,  is  mine. — 

Madam,  be  safe,  and  lay  aside  your  fear;  [To  the  Queen. 

You  are  as  in  a  magic  circle  here. 

Boab.     To  our  own  valor  our  success  we'll  owe. 
Haste,  Hamet,  with  Abenamar  to  go; 
You  two  draw  up,  with  all  the  speed  you  may, 
Our  last  reserves,  and  yet  redeem  the   day. 

[Exeunt  Hamet  and  Abenamar  one  way,  the  King  the  other, 
with  Abdelmelech,  etc.     Alarm  within. 

Enter  Abdelmelech,  his  sword  drawn. 

Abdelm.     Granada  is  no  more!     Th'  unhappy  king, 
170  Vent'ring  too  far,  ere  we  could  succor  bring. 
Was  by  the  Duke  of  Arcos  pris'ner  made. 
And,  past  relief,  is  to  the   fort  convey'd. 

Almans.     Heav'n,  thou  art  just!     Go,  now  despise  my  aid. 


136.     fault]  Q1Q2Q3  print  fau't. 


PART  II,  ACT  III,  SCENE  I  97 

Almah.  Unkind  Almanzor,  how  am  I  betray'd! 
Betray'd  by  him  in  whom  I  trusted  most! 
But  I  will  ne'er  outlive  what  I  have  lost. 
Is  this  your  succor,  this  your  boasted  love? 
I  will  accuse  you  to  the  saints  above! 
Almanzor  vow'd  he  would  for  honor  fight, 
180  And  lets  my  husband  perish  in  my  sight. 

[Exeunt  Almahide  and  Esperanza. 

Almanz.     O,  I  have  err'd;  but  fury  made  me  blind; 
And,  in  her  just  reproach,  my  fault  I  find! 
I  promis'd  ev'n  for  him  to  fight,  whom  I — 
But  since  he's  lov'd  by  her,  he  must  not  die. 
Thus  happy  fortune  comes  to  me  in  vain 
When  1  myself  must  ruin  it  again. 

To  him  Abenamar,  Hamet,  Abdelmelech,  Zulema,  Soldiers. 

Ahen.     The  foe  has  enter'd  the  Vermillion  tow'rs; 

And  nothing  but  th'  Alhambra  now  is  ours. 

Almanz.    Ev'n  that's  too  much,  except  we  may  have  more; 
190  You  lost  it  all  to  that  last  stake  before. 

Fate,  now  come  back;  thou  canst  not  farther  get; 

The  bounds  of  thy  libration  here  are  set. 

Thou  know'st  this  place, 

And,  like  a  clock  wound  up,  strik'st  here  for  me;  "j 

Now,  Chance,  assert  thy  own  inconstancy,  > 

And,  Fortune,  fight,  that  thou  may'st  Fortune  be!    J 

They  come:   here,  favor'd  by  the  narrow  place,  [A  noise  within. 

I  can,  with  few,  their  gross  battalion  face. 

By  the  dead  wall,  you,  Abdelmelech,  wind; 
200  Then  charge,  and  their  retreat  cut  off  behind.  [Exeunt. 

[An  alarm  within. 

Enter  Almanzor  and  his  Party,  with  Abdalla  prisoner. 

Almanz.    [To   Abdal.J     You   were   my   friend,  and   to   that   name   I 
owe 
The  just  regard  which  you  refus'd  to  show. 
Your  liberty  I  frankly  would  restore. 
But  honor  now  forbids  me  to  do  more. 
Yet,  sir,  your  freedom  in  your  choice  shall  be. 
When  you  command  to  set  your  brother  free. 

Abdal.     Th'  exchange  which  you  propose  with  joy  I  take; 
An  offer  easier  then  my  hopes  could  make. 
Your  benefits  revenge  my  crimes  to  you, 
210  For  I  my  shame  in  that  bright  mirror  view. 

Almanz.     No  more;   you  give  me  thanks  you  do  not  owe: 
I  have  been  faulty  and  repent  me  now. 
But,  tho'  our  penitence  a  virtue  be. 
Mean  souls  alone  repent  in  misery; 
The  brave  own  faults  when  good  success  is  giv'n, 
For  then  they  come  on  equal  terms  to  heav'n.  [Exeunt. 


98  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

SCENE  II.— The  Albaysin. 

OzMYN  and  Benzayda. 

Bens.     I  see  there's  somewhat  which  you  fear  to  tell; 

Speak  quickly,  Ozmyn,  is  my  father  well? 

Why  cross  you  thus  your  arms,  and  shake  your  head? 

Kill  me  at  once,  and  tell  me  he  is  dead. 

Ozm.     I  know  not  more  than  you;  but  fear  not  lese; 

Twice  sinking,  twice  I  drew  him  from  the  press: 

But  the  victorious  foe  pursued  so  fast, 

That  flying  throngs  divided  us  at  last. 

As  seamen  parting  in  a  gen'ral  wrack, 
10  When  first  the  loosening  planks  begin  to  crack, 

Each  catches  one,  and  straight  are  far  disjoin'd, 

Some  borne  by  tides,  and  others  by  the  wind; 

So,  in  this  ruin,  from  each  other  rent. 

With  heav'd-up  hands  we  mutual  farewells  sent: 

Methought  his  eyes,  when  just  I  lost  his  view. 

Were  looking  blessings  to  be  sent  to  you. 

Be7iz.     Blind  Queen  of  Chance,  to  lovers  too  severe, 

Thou  rul'st  mankind,  but  art  a  tyrant  there! 

Thy  widest  empire's  in  a  lover's  breast: 
20  Like  open  seas,  we  seldom  are  at  rest. 

Upon  thy  coasts  our  wealth  is  daily  cast; 

And  thou,  like  pirates,  mak'st  no  peace  to  last. 

To  them  Lyndaraxa,  Duke  of  Arcos,  and  Guards. 

D.  Arcos.    We  were  surpris'd  when  least  we  did  suspect, 
And  justly  suffer'd  by  our  own  neglect. 

Lyndar.    No;  none  but  I  have  reason  to  complain! 
So  near  a  kingdom,  yet  'tis  lost  again! 
O,   how   unequally   in   me   were  join'd 
A  creeping  fortune  with  a  soaring  mind! 
O  lottery  of  fate,  where  still  the  wise 
30  Draw  blanks  of  fortune,  and  the  fools  the  prize ! 
These  cross,  ill  shuffled  lots  from  heav'n  are  sent, 
Yet  dull  religion  teaches  us  content; 
But  when  we  ask  it  v.here  that  blessing  dwells. 
It  points  to  pedant  colleges,  and  cells; 
There  shows  it  rude,  and  in  a  homely  dress. 
And  that  proud  want  mistakes  for  happiness.  [A  trumpet  within. 

Enter  Zulema. 

Brother!     What  strange  adventure  brought  you  here? 

Zul.     The  news  I  bring  will  yet  more  strange  appear. 
The  little  care  you  of  my  life  did  show 
40  Has  of  a  brother  justly  made  a  foe; 

9.     gen'ral  wrack]  Q2Q3.     gen'ral  tcreck  Q1Q4.    general  wreck  Q5.     general 
wrack  FSsM. 


PART  II,  ACT  III,  SCENE  II  99 

And  Abdelmelech,  who  that  life  did  save, 
As  justly  has  deserv'd  that  life  he  gave. 

Lyndar.     Your  business  cools,  while  tediously  it  stays 
On  the  low  theme  of  Abdelmelech's  praise. 

Zxd.     This  I  present  from  Prince  Abdalia's  hands. 

[Delivers  a  letter,  which  she  reads. 

Lyndar.     He  has  propos'd   (to  free  him  from  his  bands) 
That  with  his  brother  an  exchange  be  made. 

D.  Arcos.     It  proves  the  same  design  which  we  had  laid. 
Before  the  castle  let  a  bar  be  set; 
50  And  when  the  captives  on  each  side  are  met, 
With  equal  numbers  chosen  for  their  guard, 
Just  at  the  time  the  passage  is  unbarr'd. 
Let  both  at  once  advance,  at  once  be  free. 

Lyndar.     Th'  exchange  I  will  myself  in  person  see. 

Benz.     I  fear  to  ask,  yet  would  from  doubt  be  freed, — 
Is  Selin  captive,  sir,  or  is  he  dead? 

Zul.     I  grieve  to  tell  you  what  you  needs  must  know, — 
He  is  a  pris'ner  to  his  greatest   foe; 
Kept  with  strong  guards  in  the  Alhambra  tow'r; 
60  Without  the  reach  ev'n  of  Almanzor's  pow'r. 

Ozm.     With  grief  and  shame  I  am  at  once  oppressed. 

Zul.     You  will  be  more,  when  I  relate  the  rest. 
To  you  I  from   Abenamar  am  sent,  {To  Ozmyn. 

And  you  alone  can  Selin's  death  prevent. 
Give  up  yourself  a  pris'ner  in  his  stead; 
Or,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn,  believe  him  dead. 

Benz.     Ere  that  appear,  I  shall  expire  with  grief. 

Zul.     Your  action  swift,  your  counsel  must  be  brief. 

Lyndar.     While  for  Abdalia's  freedom  we  prepare, 
70  You  in  each  other's  breast  unload  your  care. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Ozmyn  and  Benzayda. 

Benz.     My  wishes  contradictions  must  imply; 
You  must  not  go;  and  yet  he  must  not  die. 
Your  reason  may,  perhaps,  th'  extremes  unite; 
But  there's  a  mist  of  fate  before  my  sight. 

Ozm.     The  two  extremes  too  distant  are,  to  close; 
And  human  wit  can  no  midway  propose. 
My  duty  therefore  shows  the  nearest  way, 
To  free  your  father,  and  my  own  obey. 

Benz.     Your  father,  whom,  since  yours,  I  grieve  to  blame,  , 

80  Has  lost,  or  quite  forgot,  a  parent's  name;  > 

And,  when  at  once  possess'd  of  him  and  you. 
Instead  of  freeing  one,  will  murder  two. 

Ozm.     Fear  not  rny  life;   but  suffer  me  to  go: 
What  cannot  only  sons  with  parents  do! 
'Tis  not  my  death  my  father  does  pursue; 
He  only  would  withdraw  my  love  from  you. 

68.     counsel]  Q3Q4Q5F.     council  Q1Q2. 


100  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

Bcnz.     Now,  Ozmyn,  now  your  want  of  lore  I  see; 
For  would  you  go,  and  hazard  losing  me? 

Ozm.     I  rather  would  ten  thousand  lives  forsake; 
90  Nor  can  you  e'er  believe  the  doubt  you  make. — 
This  night  I  with  a  chosen  band  will  go. 
And,  by  surprise,  will  free  him  from  the  foe. 

Benz.     What  foe!     Ah,  whether  would  your  virtue  fall! 
It  is  your  father  whom  the  foe  you  call. 
Darkness  and  rage  will  no  distinction  make, 
And  yours  may  perish  for  my  father's  sake. 

Ozm.     Thus,  when  my  weaker  virtue  goes  astray, 
Yours  pulls  it  back,  and  guides  me  in  the  way: 
I'll  send  him  word,  my  being  shall  depend 
100  On  Selin's  life,  and  with  his  death  shall  end. 

Benz.     'Tis  that,  indeed,  would  glut  your  father's  rage: 
Kcvenge  on  Ozmyn's  youth,  and  Selin's  age. 

Ozm.     Whate'er  I  plot,  like  Sisyphus,  in  vain 
I  heave  a  stone  that  tumbles  down  again. 

Be7iz.     This  glorious  work  is  then  reserv'd  for  me: 
He  is  my  father,  and  I'll  set  him  free. 
These  chains  my  father  for  my  sake  does  wear: 
I  made  the  fault;   and  I  the  pains  will  bear. 

Ozm,     Yes;  you  no  doubt  have  merited  those  pains; 
110  Those  hands,  those  tender  limbs,  were  made  for  chains! 
Did  I  not  love  you,  yet  it  were  too  base 
To  let  a  lady  suffer  in  my  place. 
Those  proofs  of  virtue  you  before  did  show, 
I  did  admire;  but  I  must  envy  now. 
Your  vast  ambition  leaves  no  fame  for  me, 
But  grasps  at  universal  monarchy. 

Bern.    Yes,  Ozmyn,  I  shall  still  this  palm  pursue; 
I  will  not  yield  my  glory,  ev'n  to  you. 
I'll  break  those  bonds  in  which  my  father  's  tied, 
120  Or,  if  I  cannot  break  'em,  I'll  divide. 

What  tho'  my  limbs  a  woman's  weakness  show; 

1  have  a  soul  as  masculine  as  you; 

And  when  these  limbs  want  strength  my  chains  to  wear. 

My  mind  shall  teach  my  body  how  to  bear.  [Exit  Benz. 

Ozm.     What  1  resolve,  I  must  not  let  her  know; 
But  honor  has  decreed  she  must  not  go. 
W^hat  she  resolves,  I  must  prevent  with  care; 
She  shall  not  in  my  fame  or  danger  share. 
I'll  give  strict  order  to  the  guards  which  wait, 
130  That,  when  she  comes,  she  shall  not  pass  the  gate. 
Fortune,  at  last,  has  run  me  out  of  breath; 
I  have  no  refuge  but  the  arms  of  death: 
To  that  dark  sanctuary  I  will  go; 
She  cannot  reach  me  when  I  lie  so  low.  [Exit. 

109.      those}   OqF.      thexe  SsM. 
134.      [Exit]    SsM.     QqF  omit. 


PAKT  II,  ACT  III,  SCENE  III  101 

SCENE  III.— The  Alhayzin. 

Enter,  on  the  one  side,  Almanzor,  Abdalla,  Abdelmelech, 
ZuLEMA,  Hamet.  On  the  other  side,  the  Duke  of  Arcos, 
BOABDELIN,  Lyndaraxa,  and  their  Party.  After  which  the 
bars  are  open'd;  and  at  the  same  time  Boasdelin  and  Ab- 
dalla pass  by  each  other,  each  to  his  Party;  when  Abdalla 
is  pass'd  on  the  other  side,  the  Duke  of  Arcos  approaches 
the  bars,  and  calls  to  Almanzor. 

D.  Arcos.     The  hatred  of  the  brave  with  battles  ends. 
And  foes  who  fought  for  honor  then  are  friends. 
I  love  thee,  brave  Almanzor,  and  am  proud 
To  have  one  hour  when  love  may  be  allow'd. 
This  hand,  in  sign  of  that  esteem,  I  plight; 
We  shall  have  angry  hours  enough  to  fight.  [Giving  his  hand. 

Almanz.     The  man  who  dares,  like  you,  in  fields  appear. 
And  meet  my  sword,  shall  be  my  mistress  here. 
If  I  am  proud,  'tis  only  to  my  foes; 
10  Rough  but  to  such  who  virtue  would  oppose. 
If  I  some  fierceness  from  a  father  drew, 
A  mother's  milk  gives  me  some  softness  too. 

D.  Arcos.     Since  first  you  took,  and  after  set  me  free, 
(Whether  a  sense  of  gratitude  it  be. 
Or  some  more  secret  motion  of  my  mind. 
For  which  1  want  a  name  that's  more  then  kind,) 
I  shall  be  glad,  by  whate'er  means  I  can, 
To  get  the  friendship  of  so  brave  a  man; 
And   would  your  unavailing  valor  call 
20  From  aiding  those  whom  heav'n  has  doom'd  to  fall. 
We  owe  you  that  respect. 

Which  to  the  gods  of  foes  besieg'd  was  shown, 
To  call  you  out  before  we  take  your  town. 

Almanz.     Those  whom  we  love,  we  should  esteem  'em  too, 
And  not  debauch  that  virtue  which  we  woo. 
Yet,  tho'  you  give  my  honor  just  offense, 
I'll  take  your  kindness  in  the  better  sense; 
And,  since  you  for  my  safety  seem  to  fear, 
I,  to  return  your  bribe,  should  wish  you  here. 
30  But,  .since  I  love  you  more  then  you  do  me, 
In  all  events  preserve  your  honor  free; 
For  that's  your  own,  tho'  not  your  destiny. 

D.  Arcos.     Were  you  oblig'd  in  honor  by  a  trust, 
I  should  not  think  my  own  proposals  just; 
But  since  you  fight  for  an  unthankful  king, 
What  loss  of  fame  can  change  of  parties  bring? 

Almanz.     It  will,  and  may  with  justice  too,  be  thought 
That  some  advantage  in  that  change  I  sought. 
And   tho'   I   twice   have  chang'd    for   wrongs   receiv'd, 
40  That  it  was  done  for  profit  none  bcliev'd. 
The   king's   ingratitude    I   knew   before; 


} 


102  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

So  that  can  be  no  cause  of  changing  more. 
If  now  I  stand,  when  no  reward  can  be, 
"Twill  show  the  fault  before  was  not  in  me. 

P.  Arcos.     Yet  there  is  one  reward  to  valor  due, 
And  such  it  is  as  may  be  sought  by  you ; 
That  beaut'ous  queen,  whom  you  can  never  gain, 
While  you  secure  her  husband's  life  and  reign. 
Almanz.     Then  be  it  so;  let  me  have  no  return 

[Rere  Lyndaraxa  comes  near   and  hears  them, 
50  From  him  but  hatred,  and  from  her  but  scorn. 
There  is  this  comfort  in  a  noble  fate. 
That  I  deserve  to  be  more  fortunate. 
You  have  my  last  resolve;  and  now,  farewell: 
My  boding  heart  some  mischief  does  foretell ; 
But  what  it  is,  heav"n  will  not  let  me  know. 
I'm  sad  to  death,  that  I  must  be  your  foe. 

D.  Arcos.     Heav'n,  Avhen  we  meet,  if  fatal  it  must  be 
To  one,  spare  him,  and  cast  the  lot  on  me.  [They  retire. 

Lyndar.     Ah,  what  a  noble  conquest  were  this  heart! 
60  I  am  resolv'd   I'll  try  my  utmost  art: 
In  gaining  him,  I  gain  that  fortune  too, 
Which  he  has  wedded,  and  which  I  but  woo 
I'll  try  each  secret  passage  to  his  mind. 
And  love's  soft  bands  about  his  heartstrings  wind. 
Not  his  vow'd  constancy  shall  scape  my  snare;   1 
While  he,  without,  resistance  does  prepare,  V 

I'll  melt  into  him  ere  his  love  's  aware.  J 

{She  viaTces  a  gesture  of  invitation  to  Almanzor.  who 
returns  again. 
You  see,  sir,  to  how  strange  a  remedy 
A  persecuted  maid  is  forc'd  to  fly: 
70  Who,  much   distress'd,  yet  scarce  has  confidence 
To  make  your  noble  pity  her  defense. 

Almanz.    Beauty  like  yours  can  no  protection  need; 
Or,  if  it  sues,  is  certain  to  succeed. 
To  whate'er  service  you  ordain  my  hand. 
Name  your  request,  and  call  it  your  command. 

Lyndar.     You  cannot,  sir,  but  know  that  my  ill  fate 
Has  made  me  lov'd  with  all  th'  effects  of  hate: 
One  lover  would  by  force  my  person  gain; 
Which  one,  as  guilty,  would  by  force  detain. 
80  Eash  Abdelmelech's  love  I  cannot  prize, 
And  fond  Abdalla's  passion  I  despise. 
As  you  are  brave,  so  you  are  prudent  too; 
Advise  a  wretched  woman  what  to  do. 

Almanz.     Have  courage,  fair  one,  put  your  trust  in  me; 
You  shall  at  least  from  those  you  hate  be  free. 
Kesign  your  castle  to  the  king's  command, 

45.     ra/o)]  QlQ2Q.'iQ4.     raluc  Q.-P. 


PART  II,  ACT  III,  SCENE  III  103 

And  leave  your  love  concernments  in  my  hand. 

Lyndar.     The  king,  like  them,  is  fierce,  and  faithless  too; 

How  can  I  trust  him,  who  has  injur'd  you? 
90  Keep  for  yourself  (and  you  can  grant  no  less) 

What  you  alone  are  worthy  to  possess. 

Enter,  brave  sir;   for,  when  you  speak  the  word, 

These  gates  will  open  of  their  own  accord; 

The  genius  of  the  place  its  lord  will  meet, 

And  bend  its  tow'ry  forehead  to  your  feet. 

That  little  citadel  which  now  you  see 

Shall  then  the  head  of  conquer'd  nations  be; 

And  every  turret,  from  your  coming,  rise 

The  mother  of  some  great  metropolis. 
100         Almanz.     'Tis  pity,  words,  which  none  but  gods  should  hear, 

Should  lose  their  sweetness  in  a  soldier's  ear: 

I  am  not  that  Almanzor  whom  you  praise; 

But  your  fair  mouth  can  fair  ideas  raise: 

I  am  a  wretch  to  whom  it  is  denied 

T'  accept,  with   honor,   what   I  wish  with  pride; 

And,  since  I  fight  not  for  myself,  must  bring 

The  fruits  of  all  my  conquests  to  the  king. 

Lyndar.     Say  rather  to  the  queen,  to  whose  fair  name 

I  know  you  vow  the  trophies  of  your  fame. 
110  I  hope  she  is  as  kind  as  she  is  fair; 
Kinder  then  unexperienc'd  virgins  are 
To  their  first  loves;    (tho'  she  has  lovM  before, 
And  that  first  innocence  is  now  no  more:) 
But,  in  revenge,  she  gives  you  all  her  heart 

(For  you  are  much  too  brave  to  take  a  part.) 
Tho',  blinded  by  a  crown,  she  did  not  see 
Almanzor  greater  than  a  king  could  be, 
I  hope  her  love  repairs  lier  ill-made  choice: 
Almanzor  cannot  be  deluded  twice. 
120         Almanz.     No,  not  deluded;   for  none  count  their  gains, 
Who,  like  Almanzor,  frankly  give  their  pains. 

Lyndar.     Almanzor,  do  not  cheat  yourself,  nor  me; 
Your  love  is  not  refin'd  to  that  degree: 
For,  since  you  have  desires,  and  those  not  blest, 
Your  love's  uneasy,  and  at  little  rest. 

Almanz.     'Tis  true,  my  own  unhappiness  I  see; 
But  who,  alas,  can  my  physician  be? 
Love,  like  a  lazy  ague,  I  endure, 
Which   fears  the  water,  and  abhors  the  cure. 
130         Lyndar.     'Tis  a  consumption,  which  your  life  does  waste. 
Still  flatt'ring  you  with  hope,  till  help  be  past; 
But,  since  of  cure  from  her  you  now  despair. 
You,  like  consumptive  men,  should  change  your  air: 
Love  somewhere  else;   'tis  a  hard  remedy. 
But  yet  you  owe  yourself  so  niucli,  to  try. 

Almanz.     My  love's  now  grown  so  much  a  part  of  me, 


104  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

That  life  would,  in  the  cure,  emlanger'd  be: 

At  least  it  like  a  limb  cut  off  would  show; 

And  better  die  than  like  a  cripple  go. 
140         Lyndar.     You  must  be  brought  like  madmen  to  their  cure, 

And  darkness  first,  and  next  new  bonds  endure: 

Do  you  dark  absence  to  yourself  ordain. 

And  I,  in  charity,  will  find  the  chain. 

Almanz.    Love  is  that  madness  which  all  lovers  have; 

But  yet  'tis  sweet  and  pleasing  so  to  rave: 

'Tis  an  enchantment  where  the  reason's  bound; 

But  Paradise  is  in  tli'   enchanted  ground ; 

A  palace,  void  of  envy,  cares  and  strife. 

Where  gentle  hours  delude  so  much  of  life. 
150  To  take  those  charms  away,  and  set  me  free, 

Is  but  to  send  me  into  misery; 

And  prudence,  of  whose  cure  so  much  you  boast, 

Restores  those  pains  which  that  sweet  folly  lost. 
Lyndar.     I  would  not,  like  philosophers,  remove, 

But  show  you  a  more  pleasing  shape  of  love. 

You  a  sad,  sullen,  froward  love  did  see; 

1  '11  show  him  kind,  and  full  of  gaiety. 

In  short,   Almanzor,   it  shall  be  my   care 

To  show  you  love;  for  you  but  saw  despair. 
160        Almans.     1  in  the  shape  of  love  despair  did  see; 

You  in  his  shape  would  show  inconstancy. 

Lyndar.     There's  no  such   thing  as  constancy  you  call; 

Faith  ties  not  hearts;    'tis  inclination  all. 

Some  wit  deform  'd,  or  beauty  much  decay  'd, 

First  constancy  in  love  a  virtue  made. 

From   friendship   they   that   landmark   did  remove, 

And   falsely  plac'd  it  on  the  bounds  of  love. 

Let  the  effects  of  change  be  only  tried; 

Court  me,  in  jest,  and  call  me  Almahide: 
170  But  this  is  only  counsel  I  impart. 

For  I,  perhaps,  should  not  receive  your  heart. 
Almanz.     Fair  tho'  you  are 

As  summer  mornings,  and  your  eyes  more  bright 

Than  stars  that  twinkle  in  a  winter's  night; 

Tho '  you  have  eloquence  to  warm  and  move 

Cold  age  and  praying  hermits  into  love; 

Tho'  Almahide  with  scorn  rewarils  my  care. 

Yet,  than  to  change,    'tis  nobler  to  despair. 

My  love's  my  soul;   and  that  from   fate  is  free; 
180  'Tis  that  unchang'd  and  deathless  part  of  me. 

Lyndar.     The  fate  of  constancy  your  love  pursue! 

Still  to  be  faithful  to  what's  false  to  you. 

[Turns  from  him,  and  goes  off  angrily. 
Almanz.     Ye  gods,  why  are  not  hearts  first  pair'd  above, 


168.       the  effects'^     F.  W  effects  Qq. 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  105 

But  some  still  interfere  in  others'  love? 
Ere  each  for  each  by  certain  marks  are  known, 
You  mold  'em  off  in  haste,  and  drop  'em  down; 
And,  while  we  seek  what  carelessly  you  sort, 
You  sit  in  state,  and  make  our  pains  your  sport. 

[Exeunt  on  both  sides. 

ACT  IV,     SCENE  I. 
Abenamar,  and  Servants. 

Aben.     Haste  and  conduct  the  pris'ner  to  my  sight. 

[Exit  Servant,  and  immediately  enters  with  Selin  bound. 

Aben.     Did  you,  according  to  my  orders,  write?  [To  Selin. 

And  have  you  summon'd  Ozmyn  to  appear? 

Selin.     I  am  not  yet  so  much  a  slave  to  fear, 
Nor  has  your  son  deserv'd  so  ill  of  me 
That  by  his  death  or  bonds  I  would  be  free. 

Aben.     Against  thy  life  thou  dost  the  sentence  give; 
Behold  how  short  a  time  thou  hast  to  live. 

Selin.     Make  haste,  and   draw  the  curtain  while  you  may; 
10  You  but  shut  out  the  twilight  of  my  day. 
Beneath  the  burden  of  my  age  I  bend: 
You  kiudly  ease  me  ere  my  journey's  end. 

[To  them  a  Servant  with  Ozmyn ;  Ozmyn  Icneels. 

Aben.   [To  Selin.]    It  is  enough,  my  promise  makes  you  free; 
Resign  your  bonds,  and  take  your  liberty. 

Ozm.     Sir,  you  are  just,  and  welcome  are  these  bands; 
'Tis  all  th'  inheritance  a  son  demands. 

Selin.     Your  goodness,  O  my  Ozmyn,  is  too  great; 
I  am  not  weary  of  my  fetters  yet: 
Already,  when  you  move  me  to  resign, 
23  I  feel  'em  heavier  on  your  feet  than  mine. 

[Enter  another  Soldier  or  Servant. 

Sold.     A  youth  attends  you  in  the  outer  room, 
Who  seems  in  haste,  and  does  from  Ozmyn  come. 

Aben.     Conduct  him  in. — 

Osm.     Sent  from  Benzayda,  I  fear,  to  me. 

To  them  Benzayda,  in  the  habit  of  a  man. 

Bens.     My  Ozmyn  here! 

Ozm.                                  Benzayda!    'tis  she  I 
Go,  youth,  I  have  no  business  for  thee  here;  [To  hir. 

Go  to  th'  Albayzin,  and  attend  me  there. 
I'll  not  be  long  away;   I  pr'ythee  go. 
By  all  our  love  and  friendship 

Jicnz.  Ozmvn,  no: 


18(5.      off]   QqK.     ///)   SsM. 
20.      [EnterJ    SsM.     gqF  omit.     g2Q:j  also   omit   [or  Servant]. 


106  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

30  r  did  not  take  on  mc  this  bold  disguise 

For  ends  so  low,  to  cheat  your  watchmen's  eyes. 
When  I  attempted  this,  it  was  to  do 
An  action  to  be  envied  ev'n  by  you; 
But  you,  alas,  have  been  too  diligent, 
And  what  I  purpos'd  fatally  prevent! 
Those  chains,  which  for  my  father  I  would  bear, 
I  take  with  less  content,  to  find  you  here; 
Except  your  father  will  that  mercy  show, 
That  I  may  wear  'em  both  for  him  and  you. 
40        Ahen.     I  thank  thee,  Fortune!     Thou  hast,  in  one  hour. 
Put  all  I  could  have  ask'd  thee  in  my  pow'r. 
My  own  lost  wealth  thou  giv'st  not  only  back, 
But  driv'st  upon  my  coast  my  pirate's  wrack. 

Helin.     With  Ozmyn's  kindness  I  was  griev'd  before. 
But  yours,  Benzayda,  has  undone  me  more. 

Ahen.    [To  Soldier.]     Go   fetch  new  fetters,  and  the   daughter  bind. 

Ozm.     Be  just  at  least,  sir,  tho'  you  are  not  kind: 
Benzayda  is  not  as  a  pris'ner  brought, 
But  comes  to  suffer  for  another's  fault. 
50         Abcn.     Then,  Ozmyn,  mark,  that  justice  which  I  do, 
I,  as  severely,  will  exact  from  you: 
The  father  is  not  wholly  dead  in  me; 
Or  you  may  yet  revive  it,  if  it  be. 
Like  tapers  new   blown  out,  the  fumes  remain. 
To  catch  the  light  and  bring  it  back  again. 
Benzayda  gave  you  life,  and  set  you  free; 
For  that,  I  will  restore  her  liberty. 

Osm.     Sir,  on  my  knees  I  thank  you. 

Aben.  Ozmyn,  hold; 

One  part  of  what  I  purpose  is  untold: 
60  Consider,  then,  it  on  your  part  remains, 

When  I  have  broke,  not  to  resume  your  chains. 
Like  aji  indulgent  father,  I  have  paid 
All  debts  which  you,  my  prodigal,  have  maile. 
Now  you  are  clear,  break  off  your  fond  design, 
Kenounce  Benzayda,  and  be  wholly  mine. 

Osm.     Are  these  the  terms?     Is  this  the  liberty? 
Ah,  sir,  how  can  you  so  inhuman  be? 
My  duty  to  ray  life  I  will  prefer; 
But  life  and  duty  must  give  place  to  her. 
70        Aben.     Consider  what  you  say,  for,  with  one  breath, 
You  disobey  my  will,  and  give  her  death. 

Osm.     Ah,  cruel  father,  what  do  you  propose! 
Must  I  then  kill  Benzayda,  or  must  lose? 
I  can  do  neither;  in  this  wretched  state. 
The  least  that  I  can  suffer  is  your  hate; 
And  yet  that 's  worse  than  death — ev  'n  while  I  sue, 

49.     fault]  fau't  QqF. 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  107 

And  choose  your  hatred,  I  could  die  for  you. 
Break  quickly,  heart,  or  let  my  blood  be  spilt 
By  my  own  hand,  to  save  a  father's  guilt. 
80        Benz.     Hear  me,  my  lord,  and  take  this  wretched  life, 
To  free  you  from  the  fear  of  Ozmyn's  wife, 
I  beg  but  what  with  ease  may  granted  be, 
To  spare  your  son,  and  kill  your  enemy; 
Or,  if  my  death's  a  grace  too  great  to  give, 
Let  me,  my  lord,  without  my  Ozmyn  live. 
Far  from  your  sight  and  Ozmyn's  let  me  go, 
And  take  from  him  a  care,  from  you  a  foe. 

Ozm.     How,  my  Benzayda !    Can  you  thus  resign 
That  love  which  you  have  vow'd  so  firmly  mine? 
90  Can  you  leave  me  for  life  and  liberty? 

Bens.     What  I  have  done  will  show  that  I  dare  die; 
But  I'll  twice  suffer  death,  and  go  away, 
Eather  than  make  you  wretched  by  my  stay: 
By  this  my  father's  freedom  will  be  won; 
And  to  your  father  I  restore  a  son. 

Selin.     Cease,  cease,  my  children,  your  unhappy  strife, 
Selin  will  not  be  ransom'd  by  your  life. 

Barbarian,  thy  old  foe  defies  thy  rage;  [To  Aben 

Turn  from  their  youth  thy  malice  to  my  age. 
100        Bern.     Forbear,   dear   father,   for  your  Ozmyn's   sake; 
Do  not  such  words  to  Ozmyn's  father  speak. 

Ozm.     Alas,  'tis  counterfeited  rage;   he  strives 
But  to  divert  the  danger  from  our  lives: 
For  I  can  witness,  sir,  and  you  might  see, 
How  in  your  person  he  eonsider'd  me. 
He  still  dcclin'd  the  combat  where  you  were; 
And  you  well  know  it  was  not  out  of  fear. 

Benz.     Alas,  my  lord,  where  can  your  vengeance  fall? 
Your  justice  will  not  let  it  reach  us  all. 
110  Selin  and  Ozmyn  both  would  suff'rers  be; 
And  punishment's  a  favor  done  to  me. 
If  we  are  foes,  since  you  have  pow'r  to  kill, 
'Tis  gen'rous  in  you  not  to  have  the  will; 
But,  are  we  foes?     Look  round,  my  lord,  and  see; 
Point  out  that  face  which  is  your  enemy. 
Would  you  your  hand  in  Selin's  blood  embrue? 
Kill  him  unarm'd,  who,  arm'd,  shuun'd  killing  you? 
Am  I  your  foe?     Since  you  detest  my  line. 
That  hated  name  of  Zegry  I  resign:  , 

120  For  you,  Benzayda  will  herself  disclaim ; 
Call  me  your  daughter,  and  forget  my  name. 

Selin.     This  virtue  would  even  savages  subdue; 
And  shall  it  want  the  pow'r  to  vanquish  you? 

Ozm.     It  has,  it  has;   I  read  it  in  his  eyes; 
'Tis  now  not  anger,  'tis  but  shame  denies; 
A  shame  of  error  that  great  spirits  find, 


108  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Which  keeps  down  virtue  struggling  in  the  mind. 

Aben.     Yes,  I  am  vanquished!     The  fierce  conflict's  past, 
And  shame  itself  is  now  o'ercome  at  last. 
130    Twas  long  before  my  stubborn  mind  was  won; 
But,  melting  once,  I  on  the  sudden  run; 
Nor  can  I  hold  my  headlong  kindness  more 
Than  I  could  curb  my  cruel  rage  before. 

[Buns  to  Benz.,  and  embraces  her. 
Benzayda,  'twas  your  virtue  vanquish'd  me; 
That  could  alone  surmount  my  cruelty. 

[Buns  to  Selin,  and  unbinds  him. 
Forgive  me,  Selin,  my  neglect  of  you; 
But  men,  just  waking,  scarce  know  what  they  do. 
Ozm.     O  father! 
Benz.  Father! 

Aben.  Dare  I  own  that  name! 

Speak,  speak  it  often,  to  remove  my  shame.  [Th^y  all  embrace  him. 

140  O  Selin,  O  my  children,  let  me  go! 

I  have  more  kindness  then  I  yet  can  show. 
For  my  recov'ry  I  must  shun  your  sight ; 
Eyes  us'd  to  darkness  cannot  bear  the  light. 

[He  runs  in,  they  following  him. 

SCENE  II.— The  Alhayzin. 

Almanzor,  Abdelmelech,  Soldiers. 

Almans.     'Tis  war  again,  and  I  am  glad  'tis  so; 
Success  shall  now  by  force  and  courage  go. 
Treaties  are  but  the  combats  of  the  brain, 
Where  still  the  stronger  lose,  and  weaker  gain. 

Abdelm.     On  this  assault,  brave  sir,  which  we  prepare, 
Depends  the  sum  and  fortune  of  the  war. 
Encamp'd  without  the  fort  the  Spaniard  lies, 
And  may,  in  spite  of  us,  send  in  supplies. 
Consider  yet,  ere  we  attack  the  place, 
10  What  'tis  to  storm  it  in  an  army's  face. 

Almans.     The  minds  of  heroes  their  own  measures  are; 
They  stand  exempted  from  the  rules  of  war. 
One  loose,  one  sally  of  the  hero's  soul, 
Does  all  the  military  art  control: 
While  tim'rous  wit  goes  round,  or  fords  the  shore, 
He  shoots  the  gulf,  and  is  already  o'er; 
And,  when  th'  enthusiastic  fit  is  spent, 
Looks  back  amaz'd  at  what  he  underwent. 

[An  alarm  within.     Exeunt. 

Elder  Almanzor  and  Abdelmelech  with  their  Soldiers. 
Abdelm.     They  fly,  they  fly;  take  breath  and  charge  again. 

138.     O  father]  Qq.     O  my  father  F. 
3.     combats]  QqF.    combat  SsM. 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  109 

20        Almans.     Make  good  your  entrance,  and  bring  up  more  men. 
I  fear'd,  brave  friend,  my  aid  had  been  too  late. 

Abdelm.     You  drew  us  from  the  jaws  of  certain  fate. 
At  my  approach 

The  gate  was  open,  and  the  drawbridge  down; 
But,  when  they  saw  I  stood,  and  came  not  on, 
They  charg'd  with  fury  on  my  little  band. 
Who,  much  o'erpower'd,  could  scarce  the  shock  withstand. 

Almanz.     Ere  night  we  shall  the  whole  Albayzin  gain. 
But  see,  the  Spaniards  march  along  the  plain 
30  To  its  relief;  you,  Abdelmelech,  go 

And  force  the  rest,  while  I  repulse  the  foe.  [Exit  Almanzor. 

Enter  Abdalla,  and  some  few  Soldiers,  tclio  seem  fearful. 

Abdal.     Turn,  cowards,  turn;   there  is  no  hope  in  flight; 
You  yet  may  live,  if  you  but  dare  to  fight. 
Come,  you  brave  few,  who  only  fear  to  fly; 
We're  not  enough  to  conquer,  but  to  die. 

Abdelm.     No,  prince,  that  mean  advantage  I  refuse; 
'Tis  in  your  pow'r  a  nobler  fate  to  choose. 
Since  we  are  rivals,  honor  does  command 
We  should  not  die  but  by  each  other's  hand. 
40  Retire;  and,  if  it  prove  my  destiny  [To  his  men. 

To  fall,  I  charge  you  let  the  prince  go  free. 

[The  Soldiers  depart  on  both  sides. 

Abdal.     O,  Abdelmelech,  that  I  knew  some  way 
This  debt  of  honor  which  I  owe  to  pay! 
But  fate  has  left  this  only  means  for  me, 
To  die,  and  leave  you  Lyndaraxa  free. 

Abdelm.     He,  who  is  vanquish'd  and  is  slain,  is  blest: 
The  wretched  conqueror  can  ne'er  have  rest; 
But  is  reserv'd  a  harder  fate  to  prove. 
Bound  in  the  fetters  of  dissembled  love. 
50        Abdal.     Now  thou  art  base,  and  I  deserve  her  more; 
Without  complaint  I  will  to  tlcath  adore. 
Dar'st  thou  see  faults,  and  yet  dost  love  pretend? 
I  will  ev'n  Lyndaraxa's  crimes  defend. 

Abdelm.     Maintain  her  cause,  then,  better  than  thy  own, 
Than  thy  ill-got  and  worse-defended  throne. 

[They  fight,  Abdalla  falls. 

Abdelm.     Now  ask  your  life. 

Abdal.  'Tis  gone;  that  busy  thing, ^ 

The  soul,  is  packing  up,  and  just  on  wing,  > 

Like  parting  swallows,  when  they  seek  the  spring.  J 

Like  them,  at  its  appointed  time,  it  goes, 
60  And  flies  to  countries  more  unknown  than  those. 

Enter  Lyndaraxa  hastily,  sees  them,  and  is  going  out  again. 

Abdelm.   [Stopping  her.]    No,  you  shall  stay,  and  see  a  sacrifice. 
Not  offer'd  by  my  sword,  but  by  your  eyes. 


110  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

rrom  those  he  first  ambition's  poison  drew, 

And  swcll'd  to  empire  for  the  love  of  you. 

Accursed  fair! 

Thy  comet-blaze  portends  a  prince's  fate; 

And   suflf  'ring   subjects   groan   beneath   thy   weight. 

Abdal.     Cease,  rival,  cease! 
I  would  have  forc'd  you,  but  it  wonnot  be; 
70  I  beg  you  now,  upbraid  her  not  for  me. 

You,  fairest,  to  my  memory  be  kind!  [To  Lyndak. 

Lovers  like  me  your  sex  will  seldom  find. 
When  I  usurp  'd  a  crown  for  love  of  you, 
I  then  did  more  than,  dying,  now  I  do. 
I  'm  still  the  same  as  when  my  love  begun ;       ^ 
And,  could  I  now  this  fate  foresee  or  shun,      > 

Would  yet  do  all  I  have  already  done.  J  [Dies. 

[She  puts  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Abdelm.     Weep  on,  weep  on,  for  it  becomes  you  now; 
These  tears  you  to  that  love  may  well  allow. 
80  His  unrepenting  soul,  if  it  could  move  "] 

.Upward,  in  crimes,  flew  spotted  with  your  love;      (■ 
And  brought  contagion  to  the  blest  above.  J 

Lyndar.     He's  gone,  and  peace  go  with  a  constant  mind! 
His  love  deserv'd  I  should  have  been  more  kind; 
But  then  your  love  and  greater  worth  I  knew : 
I  was  unjust  to  him,  but  just  to  you. 

Abdelm.     I  was  his  enemy,  and  rival  too, 
Yet  I  some  tears  to  his  misfortunes  owe: 
You  owe  him  more;  weep  then,  and  join  with  me: 
90  So  much  is  due  ev'n  to  humanity. 

Lyndar.     Weep  for  this  wretch,  whose  memory  I  hate! 
Whose  folly  made  us  both  unfortunate! 
Weep  for  this  fool,  who  did  my  laughter  move! 
This  whining,  tedious,  heavy  lump  of  love! 

Abdelm.     Had  fortune  favor'd  him,  and  frown'd  on  me,     ^ 
I  then  had  been  that  heavy  fool,  not  he :  >- 

Just  this  had  been  my  fun'ral  elegy.  J 

Thy  arts  and  falsehood  I  before  did  know. 
But  this  last  baseness  was  conceal'd  till  now; 
100  And  'twas  no  more  than  needful  to  be  known ; 
I  could  be  cur'd  by  such  an  act  alone. 
My  love,  half  blasted,  yet  in  time  would  shoot; 
But  this  last  tempest  rends  it  to  the  root. 

Lyndar.     These  little  piques,  which  now  your  anger  move, 
Will  vanish,  and  are  only  signs  of  love. 
Y^'ou've  been  too  fierce;  and,  at  some  other  time, 
I  should  not  with  such  ease  forgive  your  crime: 
But,  in  a  day  of  public  joy,  like  this, 
I  pardon,  and  forget  whate'er's  amiss. 

6.S.      amWtion's^   Q1Q2Q3Q4P.   amJ)itious  Q5  SsM. 
88.      misfortunes]    Qq.    misfortune   F   SsM. 


PAET  II,  ACT   IV,  SCENE  II  111 

110        Abdelm.     These  arts  have  oft  prcvail'd,  but  must  no  more: 
The  spell  is  ended,  and  th'  enchantment  o'er. 
You  have  at  last  destroy'd,  with  much  ado, 
That  love  which  none  could  have   destroy'd,  but  you. 
My  love  was  blind  to  your  deluding  art; 
But  blind  men  feel,  when  stabb'd  so  near  the  heart. 

Lyndar,     I  must  confess  there  was  some  pity  due; 
But  I  coneeal'd  it  out  of  love  to  you. 

Abdelm.     No,  Lyndaraxa ;   'tis  at  last  too  late; 
Our  loves  have  mingled  with  too  much  of  fate. 
120  I  would,  but  cannot  now,  myself  deceive: 
O  that  you  still  could  cheat,  and  I  believe! 

Lyndar.     Do  not  so  light  a  quarrel  long  pursue: 
You  grieve  your  rival  was  less  lov'd  than  you. 
'Tis  hard,  when  men  of  kindness  must  complain! 

Abdelm.     I'm  now  awake,  and  cannot  dream  again. 

Lyndar.     Yet  hear 

Abdelm.  No  more;  nothing  my  heart  can  bend: 

That  queen  you  scorn'd  you  shall  this  night  attend. 
Your  life  the  king  has  pardon'd  for  my  sake; 
But  on  your  pride  I  some  revenge  must  take. 
130  See  now  th'  effects  of  what  your  arts  design'd! 
Thank  your  inconstant  and  ambitious  mind. 
'Tis  just  that  she  who  to  no  love  is  true 
Should  be  forsaken  and  contcmn'd  like  you. 

Lyndar.     All  arts  of  injur'd  women   I  will  try: 
First  I  will  be  reveng'd;  and  then  I'll  die. 
But,  like  some  falling  tow'r 
Whose  seeming  firmness  does  the  sight  beguile, 
So  hold  I  up  my  nodding  head  awhile, 
Till  they  come  under;  and  reserve  my  fail, 
140  That  with  my  ruins  I  may  reach    'em  all. 

Abdelm.     Conduct  her  hence.  [Exit  Lyndar,  guarded. 

Enter  a  Soldier. 

Sold.     Almanzor  is  victorious  without  fight; 
The  foes  retreated  when  he  came  in  sight. 
Under  the  walls,  this  night,  his  men  are  drawn, 
And  mean  to  seek  the  Spaniard  with  the  dawn. 

Abdelm.     The  sun's  declin'd: 
Command  the  watch  be  set  without  delay, 
And  in  the  fort  let  bold  Benducar  stay. — 

I'll  haste  to  court,  where  solitude  I'll  fly,  [Aside. 

150  And  herd,  like  wounded  deer,  in  company. 
But  0,  how  hard  in  passion  to  remove, 
\Vhen  I  nmst  shun  myself  to   'scape  from  love!  [Exit. 

148.     And   in,  etc!      SsM    insert    [Exit   Soldier]    after   this   line   and   omit 
[Aside]   after  I  lie  next.     The  text  follows  QqF. 
101.     is]  (iqV.     a  SsM. 


112  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

SCENE  111.— The  Alhambra,  or  a  Gallery. 

ZuLEMA,  Hamet. 

Hamet.     I  thought  your  passion  for  the  queen  was  dead, 
Or  that  your  love  had  with  your  hopes  been  fled. 

Ztd.     "Twas  like  a  fire  within  a  furnace  pent; 
I  smother'd  it,  and  kept  it  long  from  vent; 
But,  fed  with  looks,  and  blown  with  sighs  so  fast, 
It  broke  a  passage  thro'  my  lips  at  last. 

Hamet.     Where  found  you  confidence  your  suit  to  Hiovef 
Our  broken  fortunes  are  not  fit  to  love. 
Well;  you  declar'd  your  love — what  follow'd  then? 
10        Zul.     She  look'd  as  judges  do  on  guilty  men, 
When  big  with  fate  they  triumph  in  their  dooms, 
And  smile  before  the  deadly  sentence  comes. 
Silent  I  stood,  as  I  were  thunderstrook; 
Condemn'd  and  executed  with  a  look. 

Hamet.     You  must,  with  haste,  some  remedy  prepare: 
Now  you  are  in,  you  must  break  thro'  the  snare. 

Zul.     She  said  she  would  my  folly  yet  conceal; 
But  vow'd  my  next  attempt  she  would  reveal. 

Hamet.     'Tis  dark;  and  in  this  lonely  gallery, 
20  (Remote  from  noise,  and  shunning  every  eye,) 
One  hour  each  evening  she  in  private  mourns. 
And  prays,  and  to  the  circle  then  returns. 
Now,  if  you  dare,  attempt  her  passing  by. 

Zul.     These  lighted  tapers  show  the  time  is  nigh. 
Perhaps  my  courtship  will  not  be  in  vain: 
At  least,  few  women  will  of  force  complain. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  Gallery,  enter  Almanzor  and  Esperanza. 

Hamet.     Almanzor,  and  with  him 
The  favorite  slave  of  the  sultana  queen.  "^ 

Zul.     Ere  they  approach,  let  us  retire  unseen,  >■ 
30  And  watch  our  time  when  they  return  again :        J 
Then  force  shall  give,  if  favor  does  deny; 
And,  that  once  done,  we'll  to  the  Spaniards  fly. 

[Exeunt  Zxih.  and  Hamet. 

Almanz.     Now  stand;  th'  apartment  of  the  queen  is  near, 
And  from  this  place  your  voice  will  reach  her  ear. 

[Esperanza  goes  out. 

SONG,  IN  TWO  PARTS 

I. 

He.      Bow  unhappy  a  lover  am  I, 

While  I  sigh  for  my  Phyllis  in  vain; 
All  my  hopes  of  delight 
Are  another  man's  right, 

Who  is  happy,  while  I  am  in  pain! 

13.     thunderstrook]  Q1Q2Q3.     thunder-struck  Q4Q5F  SsM. 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  III  113 

II. 
40  She.     Since  her  honor  allows  no  relief. 

But  to  pity  the  pains  which  you  hear, 
'lis  the  best  of  your  fate, 
(In  a  hopeless  estate,) 

To  give  o'er,  and  betimes  to  despair. 

III. 

He.      I  have  tried  the  false  medicine  in  vain; 
For  I  wish  what  I  hope  not  to  win: 
From  without,  my  desire 
Has  no  food  to  its  fire; 

But  it  burns  and  consumes  me  ivithin. 

IV. 

50  She.     Yet  at  least  'tis  a  pleasure  to  I'now 

That  you  are  not  unhappy  alone: 
For  the  nymph  you  adore 

Is  as  wretched,  and  more;  ^ 

And  accounts  all  your  suff'rings  her  own. 

V. 

He.      0  ye  gods,  let  me  suffer  for  both; 

At  the  feet  of  my  Phyllis  I'll  lie: 
I'll  resign  up  my  breath. 
And  take  pleasure  in  death. 

To  be  pitied  by  her  when  I  die. 

VI. 

60  She.     What  her  honor  denied  you  in  life. 

In  her  death  she  will  give  to  your  love. 

Such  a  flame  as  is  true 

After  fate  will  renew. 

For  the  souls  to  meet  closer  above. 

Enter  Esperanza  again,  after  the  Song. 

Almanz.     Accept  this  diamond,  till  I  can  present 
Something  more  worthy  my  acknowledgment. 
And  now  farewell :     I  will  attend,  alone, 
Her  coming  forth;   and  make  my  suff'rings  known. 

[Exit  Esperanza. 
[^o/w.]     A  hollow  wind  comes  whistling  thro'  that  door, 
70  And  a  cold  shivering  seizes  me  all  o'er; 

My  teeth,  too,  chatter  with  a  sudden  fright: 
These  are  the  raptures  of  too  fierce  delight, 
The  combat  of  the  tyrants,  Hope  and  Fear; 
Which  hearts,  for  want  of  field-room,  cannot  bear. 
I  grow  impatient; — this,  or  that's  the  room: — 

54.     accounts]   QqF.    .counts  SsM. 


114  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

I'll  meet  her; — now,  methinks,  I  hear  her  come. 

[He  goes  to  the  door;  the  Ghost  of  his  Mother  mc«ts  him. 
He  starts  back:  the  Ghost  stands  in  the  door. 

Well  mayst  thou  make  thy  boast,  whate'er  thou  art! 

Thou  art  the  first  e'er  made  Almanzor  start. 

My  legs 
80  Shall  bear  me  to  thee  in  their  own  despite :  "^ 

I'll  rush  into  the  covert  of  thy  night,  > 

And  pull  thee  backward,  by  thy  shroud,  to  light;    J 

Or  else  I  'II  squeeze  thee,  like  a  bladder,  there, 

And  make  thee  groan  thyself  away  to  air.  {The  Ghost  retires. 

So,  art  thou  gone!     Thou  canst  no  conquest  boast: 

I  thought  what  was  the  courage  of  a  ghost. — 

The  grudging  of  my  ague  yet  remains; 

My  blood,  like  icicles,  hangs  in  my  veins. 

And  does  not  drop. — Be  master  of  that  door; 
90  We  two  will  not  disturb  each  other  more. 

I  err'd  a  little,  but  extremes  may  join; 

That  door  was  hell's,  but  this  is  heav'n's  and  mine. 

[Goes  to  the  other  door,  and  is  met  again  by  the  Ghost. 

Again!    By  heav'n,  I  do  conjure  thee,  speak! 

What  art  thou,  spirit?  and  what  dost  thou  seek? 

[The  Ghost  eomes  on  softly  after  the  conjuration;  and 
Almanzor  retires  to  the  middle  of  the  stage. 
Ghost.     I  am  the  ghost  of  her  who  gave  thee  birth; 

The  airy  shadow  of  her  mold'ring  earth. 

Love  of  thy  father  me  thro'  seas  did  guide; 

On  seas  I  bore  thee,  and  on  seas  I  died. 

I  died ;  and  for  my  winding-sheet  a  wave 
100  I  had,  and  all  the  ocean  for  my  grave. 

But  when  my  soul  to  bliss  did  upward  move, 

I  wander'd  round  the  crystal  walls  above ; 

But  found  th'  eternal  fence  so  steepy  high,  ^ 

That,  when  I  mounted  to  the  middle  sky,  > 

I  flagg'd,  and  flutter'd  down,  and  could  not  fly.  J 

Then,  from  the  battlements  of  the  heav'nly  tow'r, 

A  watchman  angel  bid  me  wait  this  hour; 

And  told  me,  I  had  yet  a  task  assign'd, 

To  warn  that  little  pledge  I  left  behind ; 
110  And  to  divert  him,  ere  it  were  too  late, 

From  crimes  unknown,  and  errors  of  his  fate. 

Almanz.  [Boicing.]  Speak,  holy  shade;  thou  parent-form,  speak  on!  i 

Instruct  thy  mortal-elemented  son ;  I 

For  here  I  wander,  to  myself  unknown.  J 

But  O,  thou  better  part  of  heav'nly  air. 

Teach  me,  kind  spirit,   (since  I'm  still  thy  care,) 

My  parents'  names: 

82.      thv  shroud]   01020."?.     the  shrniid  O-IOSF. 

85.      art  thou]      Q(]F.    .thou  art  SsM. 

103.     steepy]  Q1Q203Q4.  steeply  Q5P  SsM. 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  111  115 

If  I  have  yet  a  father,  let  me  know 

To  whose  old  age  my  humble  youth  must  bow, 
120  And  pay  its  duty,  if  he  mortal  be, 

Or  adoration,  if  a  mind  like  thee. 

Ghost.     Then,  what  1  may,  1^11  tell.— 

From  ancient  blood  thy  father's  lineage  springs, 

Thy  mother's  thou  deriv'st  from  stems  of  kings, 

A  Christian  born,  and  born  again  that  day, 

When  sacred  water  wash'd  thy  sins  away; 

Yet,  bred  in  errors,  thou  dost  misimploy 

That  strength  heav'n  gave  thee,  and  its  flock  destroy. 
Almam.     By  reason  man  a  godhead  may  discern, 
130  But  how  he  would  be  worship'd  cannot   learn. 

Ghost.     Heav'n  does  not  now  thy  ignorance  reprove, 

But  warns  thee  from  known  crimes  of  lawless  love. 

That  crime  thou  know'st,  and,  knowing,  dost  not  shun, 

Shall  an  unknown  and  greater  crime  pull  on: 

Btft  if,  thus  warn'd,  thou  leav'st  this  cursed  place, 

Then  shalt  thou  know  the  author  of  thy  race. 

Once  more  I'll  see  thee;   when  my  charge  is  done, 

Far  hence,  upon   the   Mountains  of  the  Moon, 

Is  my  abode;  where  heav'n  and  nature  smile, 
140  And  strew  with  flowers  the  secret  bed  of  Nile. 

Blest  souls  are  there  refin'd,  and  made  more  bright. 

And,  in  the  shades  of  heav'n,  prepar'd  for  light.  [Exit  Ghost. 

Almam.     O  heav'n,  how  dark  a  riddle's  thy  decree. 

Which  bounds  our  wills,  yet  seems  to  leave  'em  free! 

Since  thy  foreknowledge  cannot  be  in  vain. 

Our  choice  must  be  what  thou  didst  first  ordain. 

Thus,  like  a  captive  in  an  isle  confin'd, 

Man  walks  at  large,  a  pris'ner  of  the  mind: 

Wills  all  his  crimes,  while  heav'n  th'  indictment  draws, 
150  And,  pleading  guilty,  justifies  the  laws. — 

Let  fate  be  fate;   the  lover  and  the  brave 

Are  rank'd,  at  least,  above  the  vulgar  slave. 

Love  makes  me  willing  to  my  death  to  run; 

And  courage  scorns  the  death  it  cannot  shun. 

Enter  Almahide  with  a  taper. 

Almah.     My  light  will  sure  discover  those  who  talk. — 
Who  dares  to  interrupt  my  private  walk? 

Almanz.     He,  who  dares  love,  and  for  that  love  must  die, 
And,  knowing  this,  dares  yet  love  on,  am  I. 

Almah.     That  love  which  you  can  hope,  and  I  can  pay, 
160  May  be  rccciv 'd   and   giv 'n  in   open  day: 


137.  Once  .  .  .  thee;  when  .  .  .  done,]  QqF.  with  some  varia- 
tions of  imnctiiation  :  Q1CJ4  place  colon  after  IIkc  and  comma  after  dune; 
Q-  and  Cy.',  place  commas  after  thee  and  done;  U.">  places  a  colon  after  thee 
and  a  semicolon  after  done;  F  places  a  semicolon  after  thee  and  a  period 
after  dune.     SsM  read  :    Once     .     .     .     thee ;    then     .     .     .     done. 


116  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

My  praise  and  my  esteem  you  had  before; 
And  you  have  bound  yourself  to  ask  no  more. 

Almans.     Yes,  I  have  bound  myself;  but  will  you  take 
The  forfeit  of  that  bond  which  force  did  make? 

Almah.     You  know  you  are   from  recompense  debarr'd; 
But  purest  love  can  live  without  reward. 

Almanz.     Pure  love  had  need  be  to  itself  a  feast; 
For,  like  pure  elements,  'twill  nourish  least. 

Altnah.     It  therefore  yields  the  only  pure  content; 
170  For  it,  like  angels,  needs  no  nourishment. 
To  eat  and  drink  can  no  perfection  be; 
All  appetite  implies  necessity. 

Almans.     'Twere  well  if  I  could  like  a  spirit  live; 
But  do  not  angels  food  to  mortals  give? 
What  if  some  daemon  should  my  death   foreshow, 
Or  bid  me  change,  and  to  the  Christians  go ; 
Will  you  not  think  I  merit  some  reward, 
When  I  my  love  above  my  life  regard? 

Almah.     In  such  a  case  your  change  must  be  allow'd: 
180  I  would  myself  dispense  with  what  you  vow'd. 

Almanz.     Were  I  to  die  that  hour  when  I  possess, 
This  minute  should  begin  my  happiness. 

Almah.     The  thoughts  of  death  your  passion  would  remove; 
Death  is  a  cold  encouragement  to  love! 

Almanz.     No;  from  my  joys  I  to  my  death  would  run, 
And  think  the  business  of  my  life  well  done: 
But  I  should  walk  a  discontented  ghost. 
If  flesh  and  blood  were  to  no  purpose  lost. 

Almah.     You  love  me  not,  Almanzor;  if  you  did, 
190  You  would  not  ask  what  honor  must  forbid. 

Almanz.     And  what  is  honor  but  a  love  well  hid? 

Almah.     Yes,  'tis  the  conscience  of  an  act  well  done. 
Which  gives  us  pow'r  our  own  desires  to  shun; 
The  strong  and  secret  curb  of  headlong  will; 
The  self-reward  of  good,  and  shame  of  ill. 

Almanz.     These,  madam,  are  the  maxims  of  the  day, 
When  honor's  present,  and  when  love's  away. 
The  duty  of  poor  honor  were  too  hard. 
In  arms  all  day,  at  night  to  mount  the  guard. 
200  Let  him,  in  pity,  now  to  rest  retire; 

Let  these  soft  hours  be  watch'd  by  warm  desire. 

Almah.     Guards,  who  all  day  on  painful  duty  keep. 
In   dangers   are   not    privileg  'd    to   sleep. 

Almanz.     And  with  what  dangers  are  you  threaten'd  here? 
Am  I,  alas!    a  foe  for  you  to  fear? 

See,  madam,  at  your  feet  this  enemy;  [Kneels. 

Without  your  pity  and  your  love  I  die. 

175.     dwmnn^   Q1Q2Q.SQ4.     demon  Q.5P  Ss=M. 
182.      shouUn   Q1Q2Q:{Q4F.     fthall  Q5  SsM. 
193.      desires]  Q1Q2Q:?Q4.     desire  Q.'F. 


} 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  III  117 

Almah.     Else,  rise,  and  do  not  empty  hopes  pursue; 
Yet  think  that  I  deny  myself,  not  you. 
210         Almanz.     A  happiness  so  nigh  I  cannot  bear: 
My  love's  too  fierce,  and  you  too  killing  fair. 
I  grow  enrag'd  to  see  such  excellence !  '^ 

If  words,  so  much  disorder'd,  give  offense,        >- 
My  love's  too  full  of  zeal  to  think  of  sense.   J 
Be  you  like  me;  dull  reason  hence  remove, 
And  tedious  forms,  and  give  a  loose  to  love. 
Love  eagerJy ;   let  us  be  gods  to-night ; 
And  do  not,  with  half  yielding,  dash  delight. 

Almah.     Thou  strong  seducer,  opportunity! 
220  Of  womankind,  half  are  undone  by  thee  I 
Tho'  I  resolve  I  will  not  be  misled, 
I  wish  I  had  not  heard  what  you  had  said! 
I  cannot  be  so  wicked  to  comply; 
And,  yet,  am  most  unhappy  to  deny! 
Away! 

Almanz.     I  will  not  move  me  from  this  place: 
I  can  take  no  denial  from  that  face! 

Almah.     If  I  could  yield, — but  think  not  that  I  will, — 
You  and  myself  I  in  revenge  should  kill; 
For  I  should  hate  us  both,  when  it  were  done, 
230  And  would  not  to  the  shame  of  life  be  won. 

Almanz.     Live  but  to-night,  and  trust  to-morrow's  mind: 
Ere  that  can  come,  there's  a  whole  life  behind. 
Methinks  already  crown'd  with  joys  I  lie, 
Speechless  and  breathless,  in  an  ecstasy! 
Not  absent  in  one  thought:    I  am  all  there; 
Still  close,  yet  wishing  still  to  be  more  near. 

Almah.     Deny  your  own  desires;  for  it  will  be 
Too  little  now  to  be  denied  by  me. 
Will  he  who  does  all  great,  all  noble  seem, 
240  Be  lost  and  forfeit  to  his  own  esteem? 
'ft^ill  he  who  may  with  heroes  claim  a  place 
Belie  that  fame,  and  to  himself  be  base? 
Think  how  august  and  godlike  3'ou  did  look, 
When  my  defense,  uiibrib'd,  you  undertook; 
But,  when  an  act  so  brave  you  disavow, 
How  little,  and  how  mercenary  now ! 

Almanz.     Are,  then,  my  services  no  higher  priz'dt 
And  can  I  fall  so  low  to  be  despis'd? 

Almah.     Yes;   for  whatever  may  be  bought,  is  low; 
250  And  you  yourself,  who  sell  yourself,  are  so. 
Remember  the  great  act  you  did  this  day : 
How  did  your  love  to  virtue  then  give  way ! 
When  you  gave  freedom  to  my  captive  lord. 
That  rival  who  possess'd  what  you  ador'd, — 

210.      nicjh]  Q1Q2Q:5Q4.     hicjh  Qf.F  SsM.  spoiling  the  sense. 
222.     had  said]  Qig4Q5F.     7iaie  said  QiiQct  SsM. 


118  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Of  such  a  (Iced  what  price  can  there  be  made? 

Think  well;  is  that  an  action  to  be  paid? 

It  was  a  miracle  of  virtue  shown; 

And  wonders  are  with  wonder  paid  alone. 

And  would  you  all  that  secret  joy  of  mind 
260  Which  great  souls  only  in  great  actions  find, 

All  that,  for  one  tumultuous  minute  lose? 

Almanz.     I  would   that  minute  before  ages  choose. 

Praise  is  the  pay  of  Ileav'n  for  doing  good; 

But  love's  the  best  return  for  flesh  and  blood. 

Almah.     You've  mov'd  my  heart  so  much,  I  can  deny 

No  more;  but  know,  Almanzor,  I  can  die. 

Thus  far  my  virtue  yields;  if  I  have  shown 

More  love  than  what  I  ought,  lot  this  atone.  [Going  to  stab  herself. 

Almans.     Hold,  hold! 
270  Such  fatal  proofs  of  love  you  shall  not  give: 

Deny  me;  hate  me;  both  are  just, — but  live! 

Your  virtue  I  will  ne'er  disturb  again ; 

Nor  dare  to  ask,  for  fear  I  should  obtain. 

Almah.     'Tis  gen'rous  to  have  conquer'd  your  desire; 

You  mount  above  your  wish,  and  lose  it  higher. 

There's  pride  in  virtue,  and  a  kindly  heat; 

Not  feverish,  like  your  love,  but  full  as  great. 

Farewell ;  and  may  our  loves  hereafter  be 

But  image-like,  to  heighten  piety. 
280         Almam.     'Tis  time  I  should  be  gone! 

Alas!    I  am  but  half  converted  yet; 

All  I  resolve,  I  with  one  look  forget; 

And,  like  a  lion  whom  no  arts  can  tame. 

Shall  tear  ev'n  those  who  would  my  rage  reclaim.  [Exetmt  severally. 

[ZuLEMA  and  Hamet  watch  Almanzor;  and  when 

he  is  gone,  go  in  after  the  Queen. 

Enter  Abdelmelech  and  Lyndaraxa. 

Lyndar.     It  is  enough,  you've  brought  me  to  this  place: 
Here  stop  and  urge  no  further  my  disgrace. 
Kill  me;  in  death  your  mercy  will  be  seen. 
But  make  me  not  a  captive  to  the  queen. 

Abdelm.      'Tis  therefore  I  this  punishment  provide: 
290  This  only  can  revenge  me  on  your  pride. 
Prepare  to  suffer  what  you  shun  in  vain; 
And  know,  you  now  are  to  obey,  not  reign. 
Enter  Almahide,  shrieTcing;   her  hair  loose;  she  runs  over  the  stage. 

Alnmh.     Help,  help,  O  heav'n,  some  help! 

Enter  Zulema  and  Hamet. 
Zul.  Make  haste  before, 

And  intercept  her  passage  to  the  door. 

256.     to  he  paid]  Qq.     F  omits  he. 

286.     further]  Q1Q2Q:}Q4.     farther  Q5F. 


PART  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  III  119 

Abdelm.     Villains,  what  act  aro  you  attempting  here! 
Almah.     1  thank  thee,  heav'n!    some  succor  does  appear. 

[As  Abdelmelecii    is    going    to    help    the    Queen, 
Lyndaraxa  pulls  out  his  sicord,  and  holds  it. 
Abdelm.     With  what  ill  fate  my  good  design  is  curst! 
Zul.     We  have  no  time  to  think;   dispatch  him  first. 
Abdelm.     O  for  a  sword! 

[They  maJce  at  Abdelmelech;  he  goes  off  at  one 
door,  while  the  Queen  escapes  at  the  other. 
300        Zul.     Euin'd! 

Hamet.  Undone! 

Lyndar.  And  which  is  worst  of  all, 

He  is  escap'd. 

Zul.     I  hear  'em  loudly  call. 

Lyndar.     Your  fear  will  lose  you;  call  as  loud  as  they: 
I  have  not  time  to  teach  you  what  to  say. 
The  court  will  in  a  moment  all  be  here; 
But  second  what  I  say,  and  do  not  fear. 
Call  help;  run  that  way;  leave  the  rest  to  me. 

IZuL.  and  Hamet  rct're,  and  within  cry  "Help!" 

Enter,  at  several  doors,  the  King,  Abenamar,  Selix,  Ozmyn,  Almanzor, 
with  Guards  attending  Boabdelix. 

Boab.     What  can  the  cause  of  all  this  tumult  be? 
And  what  the  meaning  of  that  naked  sword? 

Lyndar.     I'll  tell,  when  fear  will  so  much  breath  afford. 
310  The  queen  and  Abdelmelech — 'twill  not  out — 
Ev'n  I,  who  saw  it,  of  the  truth  yet  doubt, 
It  seems  so  strange. 

Almans.  Did  she  not  name  the  queen? 

Haste;  speak. 

Lyndar.     How  dare  I  speak  what  I  have  seen!. 
With  Hamet  and  with  Zulcma  I  went, 
To  pay  both  theirs  and  my  acknowledgment 
To  Almahide,  and  by  her  mouth  implore 
Your  clemency,  our  fortunes  to  restore. 
We  chose  this  hour,  which  we  believ'd  most  free, 
When  she  retir'd  from  noise  and  company. 
320  The  antechamber  pass'd,  we  gently  knock'd, 

(Unheard  it  seems,)    but  found  the  lodgings  lock'd. 
In  duteous  silence  while  we  waited  there. 
We  first  a  noise,  and  then  long  whispers  hear; 
Yet  thought  it  was  the  queen  at  pray'rs  alone, 
Till  she  distinctly  said:    '"If  this  were  known, 
My  love,  what  shame,  what  danger  would  ensue! 
Yet  I," — and  sigh'd, — "could  venture  more  for  you!" 
Boab.     O  heav'n,  what  do  I  hear! 

301.     He  is  escap'd]  Q3.     Q1Q2Q4Q5F  omit  is. 


120  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Ahnanz.  Let  her  go  on.  '^ 

Lyndar.     "And  how,"  then  miirmurVl  in  a  bigger  tone    >■ 
330  Another  voice,  "and  how  should  it  be  known?  J 

This  hour  is  from  your  court  attendants  free; 
The  king  suspects  Almanzor,  but  not  me." 

Zul.   [At  the  door.]    I  find  her  drift;   Hamet,  be  confident; 
Second  her  words,  and  fear  not  the  event. 

ZuLEMA  and  Hamet  enter.     The  King  embraces  them. 
Boab.     Welcome,  my  only  friends:   behold  in  me, 

0  kings,  behold  th'  effects  of  clemency! 
See  here  the  gratitude  of  pardon'd  foes ! 
That  life  I  gave  'em,  they  for  me  expose ! 

Hamet.     Tho'  Abdelmelech  was  our  friend  before; 
340  When  duty  call'd  us,  he  was  so  no  more. 

Almanz.     Damn  your  delay:    you  torturers,  proceed! 

1  will  not  hear  one  word  but  Almahide. 

Boab.     When  you,  within,  the  traitor's  voice  did  hear, 
What  did  you  then? 

Zul.  I  durst  not  trust  my  ear; 

But,  peeping  thro'  the  keyhole,  I  espied 
The  queen,  and  Abdelmelech  by  her  side: 
She  on  the  couch,  he  on  her  bosom  lay;  "1 

Her  hand,  about  his  neck,  his  head  did  stay,       ?■ 
And  from  his  forehead  wip'd  the  drops  away.    J 
350        Boab.     Go  on,  go  on,  my  friends,  to  clear  my  doubt; 
I  hope  I  shall  have  life  to  hear  you  out. 

Zul.     What  had  been,  sir,  you  may  suspect  too  well; 
What  follow'd,  modesty  forbids  to  tell: 
Seeing  what  we  had  thought  beyond  belief, 
Our  hearts  so  swell'd  with  anger  and  ^^ith  grief. 
That,  by  plain  force,  we  strove  the  door  to  break. 
He,  fearful,  and  with  guilt,  or  love,  grown  weak. 
Just  as  we  enter'd,  scap'd  the  other  way; 
Nor  did  th'  amazed  queen  behind  him  stay. 
360         Lyndar.     His  sword,  in  so  much  haste,  he  could  not  mind; 
But  left  this  witness  of  his  crime  behind. 

Boab.     O  proud,  ingrateful,  faithless  womankind  I 
How  chang'd,  and  what  a  monster  am  I  made! 
My  love,  my  honor,  ruin'd  and  betray'd ! 

Almanz.     Your  love  and  honor!     Mine  are  ruin'd  worse: 
Furies  and  hell!     What  right  have  you  to  curse? 
Dull  husband  as  you  are. 
What  can  your  love,  or  what  your  honor  be? 
I  am  her  lover,  and  she's  false  to  me. 
370         Boab.     Go;  when  the  authors  of  my  shame  are  found. 
Let  'em  be  taken  instantly,  and  bound. 


340.  When  .  .  .  more]  Qq.  F  reads :  When  duty  call'd,  he  was  our 
friend  no  more.  There  Is  no  evidence  that  this  alteration  is  due  to  Dryden 
himself. 


PAKT  II,  ACT  IV,  SCENE  III  121 

They  shall  be  punish'd  as  our  laws  require: 

'Tis  just  that  flames  should  be  condemn'd  to  fire. 

This  with  the  dawn  of  morning  shall  be  done. 

Aben.     You  haste  too  much  her  execution. 
Her  condemnation  ought  to  be  def err'd ; 
With  justice,  none  can  be  condemn'd  unheard. 

Boab.     A  formal  process  tedious  is,  and  long; 
Besides,  the  evidence  is  full  and  strong. 
380         Lyndar.     The  law  demands  two  witnesses;  and  she 
Is  cast,  (for  which  heav'n  knows  I  grieve,)   by  three. 

Ozm.     Hold,  sir!      Since  you  so  far  insist  on  law, 
We  can  from  thence  one  just  advantage  draw: 
That  law  which  dooms  adulfresses  to  die, 
Gives  champions,  too,  to  slander 'd  chastity. 

Almanz.     And  how  dare  you,  who  from  my  bounty  live. 
Intrench  upon  my  love's  prerogative? 
Your  courage  in  your  own  concernments  try; 
Brothers  are  things  remote,  while  I  am  by. 
390         Ozm.     I  knew  not  you  thus  far  her  cause  would  own. 
And  must  not  suffer  you  to  fight  alone; 
Let  two  to  two  in  equal  combat  join; 
You  vindicate  her  person,  I  her  line. 

Lyndar.     Of  all  mankind,  Almanzor  has  least  right 
In  her  defense,  who  wrong'd  his  love,  to  fight. 

Almam.     'Tis  false:  she  is  not  ill,  nor  can  she  be; 
She  must  be  chaste,  because  she's  lov'd  by  me. 

Zul.     Dare  you,  what  sense  and  reason  prove,  deny? 

Almam.     When  she's  in  question,  sense  and  reason  lie. 
400         Zul.     For  truth,  and  for  my  injur'd  sovereign, 
What  I  have  said,  I  will  to  death  maintain. 

Ozm.     So  foul  a  falsehood  whoe'er  justifies 
Is  basely  born,  and  like  a  villain  lies. 
In  witness  of  that  truth,  be  this  my  gage. 

[Tal-es  a  ring  from  his  finger. 

JIamct.     I  take  it;  and  despise  a  traitor's  rage. 

Boah.     The  combat's  yours. — A  guard  the  lists  surround; 
Then  raise  a  scaffold  in  th'  ineompass'd  ground. 
And,  by  it,  piles  of  wood;  in  whoso  just  fire. 
Her  champions  slain,  th'  adult'ress  shall  expire. 
410         Abcn.     We  ask  no  favor,  but  what  arms  will  yield. 

Boab.     Choose,  then,  two  equal  judges  of  the  field: 
Next  morning  shall  decide  the  doubtful  strife. 
Condemn  th'  unchaste,  or  quit  the  virtuous  wife. 

Almanz.     But  I  am  both  ways  curst: 
For  Almahide  must  die,  if  I  am  slain; 
Or  for  my  rival  I  the  conquest  gain.  [Exeunt. 

384.     to  die]  Qq.     do  die  F. 


122  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

ACT  V.     SCENE  I. 

Almanzor  solus. 

I  have  outfae'd  myself;  and  justified, 
What  I  knew  false,  to  all  the  world  beside. 
She  was  as  faithless  as  her  sex  could  be; 
And,  now  I  am  alone,  she's  so  to  me. 
She's  faH'n!   and  now  where  shall  we  virtue  find? 
She  was  the  last  that  stood  of  womankind. 
Could  she  so  holily  my  flames  remove. 
And  fall  that  hour  to  Abdelmelech's  love? 
Yet  her  protection  I  must  undertake ; 
10  Not  now  for  love,  but  for  my  honor's  sake, 
That  mov"d  me  first,  and  must  oblige  me  still: 
My  cause  is  good,  however  hers  be  ill. 
I'll  leave  her,  when  she's  freed;  and  let  it  be 
Her  punishment,  she  could  be  false  to  me. 

To  him  Abdelmelech,  guarded. 

Abdelm.     Heav'n  is' not  heav'n,  nor  are  there  deities; 
There  is  some  new  rebellion  in  the  skies. 
All  that  was  good  and  holy  is  dethron'd. 
And  lust  and  rapine  are  for  justice  own'd. 

Almanz.     'Tis  true;   what  justice  in  that  heav'n  can  be, 
20  Which  thus  affronts  me  with  the  sight  of  thee? 
W^hy  must  I  be  from  just  revenge  debarr'd? 
Chains  are  thy  arms,  and  prisons  are  thy  guard: 
The  death  thou  di'st  may  to  a  husband  be 
A  satisfaction;  but  'tis  none  to  me. 
My  love  would  justice  to  itself  afford; 
But  now  thou  creep'st  to  death,  below  my  sword. 

Abdelm.     This  threat'ning  would  show  better  were  I  free. 

Almanz.     No;  wert  thou  freed,  I  would  not  threaten  thee; 
This  arm  should  then — but  now  it  is  too  late! 
30  I  could  redeem  thee  to  a  nobler  fate. 
As  some  huge  rock. 

Rent  from  its  quarry,  does  the  waves  divide, 
So  I 

Would  souse  upon  thy  guards,  and  dash  'em  wide: 
Then,  to  my  rage  left  naked  and  alone, 
Thy  too  much  freedom  thou  shouklst  soon  bemoan ; 
Dar'd  like  a  lark  that,  on  the  open  plain 
Pursued  and  cuff"d,  seeks  shelter  now  in  vain ; 
So  on  the  ground  wouldst  thou  expecting  lie, 
40  Not  daring  to  afford  me  victory. 

But  yet  thy  fate's  not  ripe;  it  is  decreed, 
Before  thou  di'st,  that  Almahidc  be  freed. 

15.     are  there]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     is  there  Q5F. 


PART  II,  ACT  V,  SCENE  II  123 

My  honor  first  her  danger  shall  remove, 

And  then  revenge  on  thee  my  injur'd  love.  [Exeunt  severally. 

[SCEXE    II] 

The  Scene   changes   to   the    Vivarambla,  and  appears   fill'd   with   Spec- 
tators; a   Scaffold  hung  with  black,  etc. 

Enter  the  Quken,  guarded,  with  Esperanza. 

Almah.     See  how  the  gazing  people  crowd  the  place, 
All  gaping  to  be  fill'd  with  my  disgrace.  [A  shout  within. 

That  shout  like  the  hoarse  peals  of  vultures  rings, 
When  over  fighting  fields  they  beat  their  wings. 
Let  never  woman  trust  in  innocence, 
Or  think  her  chastity  its  own  defense. 
Mine  has  betray'd  me  to  this  public  shame. 
And  virtue,  which  I  serv'd,  is  but  a  name. 

Esper.     Leave  then  that  shadow,  and  for  succor  fly 
10  To  Him  we  serve,  the  Christians'  Deity. 
Virtue's  no  god,  nor  has  she  power  divine : 
But  He  protects  it,  who  did  first  enjoin. 
Trust  then  in  Him;  and  from  His  grace  implore 
Faith  to  believe  what  rightly  we  adore. 

Almah.     Thou  Pow'r  unknown,  if  I  have  err'd,  forgive  I 
My  infancy  was  taught  what  I  believe. 
But  if  thy  Christians  truly  worship  thee, 
Let  me  thy  Godhead  in  thy  succor  see: 
So  shall  thy  justice  in  my  safety  shine, 
20  And  all  my  days,  which  thou  shalt  add,  be  thine! 

Enter  the  King,  Abenamar,  Lyndaraxa,  Benzayda:  then  Abdelmelech 
guarded;  and  after  him  Selin  and  Alabez,  as  Judges  of  the  Field. 

Boab.     You  judges  of  the  field,  first  take  your  place. — 
The  accusers  and  aceus'd  bring  face  to  face. 
Set  guards,  and  let  the  lists  be  open'd  wide; 
And  may  just  heav'n  assist  the  juster  side! 

Almah.     What!    not  one  tender  look,  one  passing  word? 
Farewell,  my  much  unkind,  but  still  lov'd  lord! 
Your  throne  was  for  my  humble   fate  too  high, 
And  therefore  heav'n  thinks  fit  that  I  should  die. 
My  story  be  forgot,  when  I  am  dead, 
30  Lest  it  should  fright  some  other  from  your  bed; 
And,  to  forget  me,  may  you  soon  adore 
Some  happier  maid, — yet  none  could  love  you  more. 
But  may  you  never  think  me  innocent, 

4.'}.      ><h(iU\  QnF.     must  SsM. 

SCENK  II.l      Not  marktd  in  QqF. 

10.  Chriitiann']  Chrixtiotm  Q<|F-  Christian's  Ss^r.  The  plural  form  bclti^r 
suits  the  sense  here;  Ijesides,  it  was  tlie  regular,  though  not  quite  uniform, 
usage  of  Drydcn's  time  to  insert  tlie  apostrophe  in  the  singular  i)ossessive.  us 
at  present,  but  to  omit  it  In  the  plural  form. 


124  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Lest  it  should  cause  you  trouble  to  repent. 

Boah.     'Tis  pity  so  much  beauty  should  not  live;  {Aside. 

Yet  I  too  much  am  injur'd,  to  forgive.  [Goes  to  his  seat. 

Trumpets:  then  enter  tico  Moors,  hearing  two  nal'ed  swords  before  the 
accusers  Zulema  and  Hamet,  wJio  follow  them.  The  Judges  scat 
themselves ;  the  Queen  and  Abdelmelech  are  led  to  the  Scaffold. 

Alabes.     Say  for  what  end  you  thus  in  arms  appear; 
What  are  your  names,  and  what  demand  you  here  ? 

Zul.     The  Zegrys'  ancient  race  our  linage  claims; 
40  And  Zulema  and  Hamet  are  our  names. 
Like  loyal  subjects  in  these  lists  we  stand, 
And  justice  in  our  king's  behalf  demand. 

Hamet.     For  whom,  in  witness  of  what  both  have  seen, 
Bound  by  our  duty,  we  appeach  the  queen 
And  Abdelmelech  of  adultery. 

Zul.     Which,  like  true  knights,  we  will  maintain,  or  die. 

Alabez.     Swear  on  the  Alcoran  your  cause  is  right, 
And  Mahomet  so  prosper  you  in  fight. 

[They  touch  their  foreheads  with  the  Alcoran,  and  bow. 

Trumpets  on  the  other  side  of  the  Stage;  two  Moors,  as  before,  with 
bare  swords  before  Almanzor  and  Ozmyn. 

Selin.     Say  for  what  end  you  thus  in  arms  appear; 
50  What  are  your  names,  and  what  demand  you  here? 

Almam.     Ozmyn  is  his,  Almanzor  is  my  name; 
We  come  as  champions  of  the  queen's  fair  fame. 

Osm.     To  prove  these  Zegrys,  like  false  traitors,  lie; 
Which,  like  true  knights,  we  will  maintain,  or  die. 

Selin.     [To  Almah.]     Madam,  do  you  for  champions  take  these  two, 
By  their  success  to  live  or  die? 

Almah.  I   do. 

Selin.     Swear  on  the  Alcoran  your  cause  is  right; 
And  Mahomet  so  prosper  you  in  fight.  [They  hiss  the  Alcoran. 

[Ozmyn  and  Benzayda  embrace,  and  take  leave  in  dumb 
show;  while  Lyndaraxa  speaks  to  her  brothers. 

Lyndar.     If  you  o'ercome,  let  neither  of  'em  live, 
60  But  use  with  care  the  advantages  T  give: 
One  of  their  swords  in  fight  shall  useless  be; 
The  bearer  of  it  is  suborn'd  by  me.  [She  and  Benzayda  retire. 

Alabez.     Now,  principals  and  seconds,  all  advance. 
And  each  of  you  assist  his  fellow's  ahance. 

Selin.     The  wind  and  sun  we  equally  divide; 
So,  let  th'  event  of  arms  the  truth  decide. 
The  chances  of  the  fight,  and  every  wound. 
The  trumpets,  on  the  victor's  part,  resound. 


39.     linage}  Q1Q4Q5F.     lineage  Q2Q3  SsM. 

[bare  swords]  Qq.     [naked  swords]   F. 

rto  her  brothers]  QqF.     [to  her  brother]  SsM. 

59.      of  'em]   Q1Q2Q3Q4.     of  them  Q.5F. 

61      fight}  Q2Q3Q4Q5F.     sight  Ql,  by  a  misprint. 


PAKT  II,  ACT  V,  SCENE  II  125 

[The  trumpets  sound;  Almanzob  and  Zulema  meet  and  -fight; 
OzMYN  and  Hamet.    After  some  passes,  the  suord  of  Ozmyn 
breaks;   he  retires,   defending   himself,  and   is   wounded;   the 
Zegrys'  Trumpets  sound  their  advantage.     Almanzor,  in  the 
meantime,   drives   Zulema   to   the    farther  end   of   the   Stage, 
till,  hearing  the  Trumpets  of  the  adverse  Party,  he  looks  back, 
and  sees  Ozmyn's  misfortune ;  he  makes  at  Zulema  just  as 
Ozmyn  falls,  in  retiring,  and  Hamet  is  thrusting  at  him. 
Hamet.     \To    Ozmyn,    thrusting.]      Our    difference    now    shall    soon 
determined  be. 
70        Almanz.     Hold,  traitor,  and  defend  thyself  from  me. 

[Hamet    leaves    Ozmyn    (who    cannot    rise),    and    both    he    and 
Zulema   fall  on   Almanzor,  and  press   him;   he   retires,  and 
Hamet,  advancing  first,  is  run  thro'  the  body,  and  falls.     The 
Queen's   Trumpets  sound.     Almanzor   pursues   Zulema. 
Lyndar.     I  must  make  haste  some  remedy  to  find: — 
Treason,  Almanzor,  treason!    Look  behind. 

[Almanzor  looks  behind  him  to  see  who  calls,  and  Zulema  takes 
the  advantage,  and  wounds  him;  the  Zegrys'  Trumpets  sound; 
Almanzor   turns   upon   Zulema,   and   wounds   him;   he   falls. 
The  Queen's  Trumpets  sound. 
Almanz.     Now  triumph  in  thy  sister's  treacherj.  [Stabbing  him. 

Zul.     Hold,  hold!    I  have  enough  to  make  me  die, 
But,  that  I  may  in  peace  resign  my  breath, 
I  must  confess  my  crime  before  my  death. 
Mine  is  the  guilt;   the  queen  is  innocent; 
I  lov'd  her,  and,  to  compass  my  intent, 
Us'd  force,  which  Abdelmelech  did  prevent. 
80  The  lie  my  sister  forg'd;   but,  O!   my  fate 
Comes  on  too  soon,  and  I  repent  too  late. 
Fair  queen,  forgive;  and  let  my  penitence 

Expiate  some  part  of [Bies. 

Almah.  Ev'n  thy  whole   offense! 

Almanz.   [To  the  Judges.]     If  aught  remains  in  the  sultana's  cause, 
I  here  am  ready  to  fulfil  the  laws. 

Selin.     The  law  is  fully  satisfied,  and  we 
Pronounce  tiie  queen  and  Abdelmelech  free. 
Abdelm.     Ileav'n,  thou  art  just! 

[The  Judges  rise  from  their  seats,  and  go  before  Almanzor  to 
the    Queen's    Scaffold;    he    unbinds    the    Queen    and    Abdel- 
melech;  they  all  go  off,  the  People  shouting,  and  the  Trum- 
pets sounding  the  while. 
Boab.     Before  we  pay  our  thanks,  or  show  our  joy, 
CO  Let  us  our  needful  charity  employ. 
Some  skilful  surgeon  speedily  be  found, 
T'  apply  fit  remedies  to  Ozmyn's  wound. 

Bcnz.  [Running    to  OzM.]    Tliat  be  my  charge:   my  linon  I  will  tear; 
Wash  it  with  tears,  and  bind  it  with  my  hair. 

Ozm.     With  how  much  pleasure  I  my  pains  endure, 


} 


126  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

And  bless  the  wound  which  causes  such  a  cure ! 

[Exit  OzM.  led  by  Benz.  and  Aben. 
Boab.     Some  from  the  place  of  combat  bear  the  slain. 
Next  Lyndaraxa's  death  I  should  ordain: 
But  let  her,  who  thirf  mischief  did  contrive, 
100  For  ever  banish'd  from  Granada  live. 

Lyndar.     [Aside.]     Thou  shouldst  have  punish'd  more,  or  not  at  all: 
By  her  thou  hast  not  ruin'd,  thou  shalt  fall. 
The  Zegrys  shall  revenge  their  branded  line, 
Betray  their  gate,  and  with  the  Christians  join. 

[Exit  Lyndaraxa  tvith  Alabez ;  the  bodies 
of  her  Brothers  are  borne  after  her. 
AlmanzOr,  Almahide,  Esperanza,  reenter  to  the  King. 

Almah.     The  thanks  thus  paid,  which  first  to  heav'n  were  due, 
My  next,  Almanzor,  let  me  pay  to  you: 
Somewhat  there  is,  of  more  concernment  too, 
Which  'tis  not  fit  you  should  in  public  know. 
First  let  your  wounds  be  dress'd  with  speedy  care, 
110  And  then  you  shall  th'  important  secret  share. 

Almanz.     Whene'er  you  speak, 
Were  my  wounds  mortal,  they  should  still  bleed  on; 
And  I  would  listen  till  my  life  were  gone: 
My  soul  should  ev'n  for  your  last  accent  stay,  ^ 
And  then  shoot  out,  and  with  such  speed  obey,     V 
It  should  not  bait  at  heav'n  to  stop  its  way.     J  [Exit  Almanz. 

Boab.   [Aside.]    'Tis  true,  Almanzor  did  her  honor  save, 
But  yet  what  private  business  can  they  have? 
Such  freedom  virtue  will  not  sure  allow; 
120  I  cannot  clear  my  heart,  but  must  my  brow. 

[He  approaches  Almahide. 
Welcome,  again,  my  virtuous,  loyal  wife; 
Welcome  to  love,  to  honor,  and  to  life! 

[Goes  to  salute  her,  she  starts  bade. 

You  seem 

As  if  you  from  a  loath'd  embrace  did  go!  "^ 

Almah.     Then  briefly  1  will  speak,   (since  you  must  know     >- 
What  to  the  world  my  future  acts  will  show:)  J 

But  hear  me  first,  and  then  my  reasons  weigh. 
'Tis  known  how  duty  led  me  to  obey 
My  father's  choice ;  and  how  I  since  did  live, 
130  You,  sir,  can  best  your  testimony  give. 

How  to  your  aid  I  have  Almanzor  brought, 
When  by  rebellious  crowds  your  life  was  sought; 
Then,  how  I  bore  your  causeless  jealousy 
(For  I  must  speak),  and  after  set  you  free, 
When  you  were  pris'ner  by  the  chance  of  war: 
These,  sure,  are  proofs  of  love. 


115      shoot]  Q1Q20S04.     shout  Qr,F  SsM.  spoiling  the  sense. 
1^5'     I  icm  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     icill  I  Q5F  SsM. 
135.     by]  Q1Q2Q3Q4.     in  Q5F  SsM. 


PART  II,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  127 

Boab.  I  grant  they  are. 

Almah.     And  could  you  then,  O  cruelly  unkind! 
So  ill  reward  such  tenderness  of  mind? 
Could  you,  denying  what  our  laws  afford 
1^  The  meanest  subject,  on  a  traitor's  word. 
Unheard,  condemn,  and  suffer  me  to  go 
To  death,  and  yet  no  common  pity  show! 

Boab.     Love  filFd  my  heart  ev'n  to  the  brim  before; 
And  then,  with  too  much  jealousy,  boil'd  o'er. 

Almah.     Be  "t  love  or  jealousy,  'tis  such  a  crime, 
That  I'm  forewarn'd  to  trust  a  second  time. 
Know,  then,  my  pray'rs  to  heav'n  shall  never  cease. 
To  crown  your  arms  in  war,  your  wars  with  peace; 
But  from  this  day  I  will  not  know  your  bed: 
150  Tho'  Almahide  still  lives,  your  wife  is  dead; 
And  with  her  dies  a  love  so  pure  and  true. 
It  could  be  kill'd  by  nothing  but  by  you.  [Exit  Almah. 

Boab.     Yes;  you  will  spend  your  life  in  pray'rs  for  me, 
And  yet  this  hour  my  hated  rival  see. 
She  might  a  husband's  jealousy  forgive; 
But  she  will  only  for  Almanzor  live. 
It  is  resolv'd:    I  will  myself  provide 
That  vengeance  which  my  useless  laws  denied; 
And,  by  Almanzor's  death,  at  once  remove 
160  The  rival  of  my  empire,  and  my  love.  [Exit  BoAB. 

[SCENE  III] 

Enter  Almahide,  led  by  Almanzor,  and  foUow'd  by  Esperanza;  she 

speaks,  cnt'ring. 

Almah.     How  much,  Almanzor,  to  your  aid  I  owe, 
"LTnable  to  repay,  I  blush  to  know; 
Yet,  forc'd  by  need,  ere  I  can  clear  that  score, 
I,  like  ill  debtors,  come  to  borrow  more. 

Almanz,     Your  new  commands  I  on  my  knees  attend: 
I  was  created  for  no  other  end. 
Born  to  be  yours,  I  do  by  nature  serve. 
And,  like  the  lab'ring  beast,  no  thanks  deserve. 

Almah.     Yet  first  your  virtue  to  your  succor  call, 
10  For  in  this  hard  command  you'll  need  it  all. 

Almanz.     I  stand  prepar'd;  and,  whatsoe'er  it  be. 
Nothing  is  hard  to  him  who  loves  like  me. 

Almah.     Then  know,  I  from  your  love  must  yet  implore 
One  proof: — that  you  would  never  see  me  more. 

Almanz.     \Siartinri  bark.]      I  must  confess. 
For  this  last   stroke  I  did  no  guard  provide; 
I  could  suspect  no  foe  was  near  that  side. 
From  winds  and  thick'ning  clouds  we  thunder  fear, 


Scene  HI.]  QqF  SsM  indicate  no  change  of  scene,  but  I.  Ill  makes  it  evi- 
dent that  one  has  occurred. 


128  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

None  dread  it  from  that  quarter  which  is  clear; 
20  And  I  would  fain  believe,  'tis  but  your  art 
To  shew 
You  knew  where  deepest  you  could  wound  my  heart. 

Almah.     So  much   respect  is  to  your  passion  due, 
That  sure  I  could  not  practice  arts  on  you. 
But,  that  you  may  not  doubt  what  I  have  said, 
This  hour  1  have  renounc'd  my  husband's  bed: 
Judge,  then,  how  much  my  fame  would  injur'd  be. 
If,  leaving  him,  I  should  a  lover  see! 

Almanz.     If  his  unkindness  have  deserv'd  that  curse, 
30  Must  I,  for  loving  well,  be  punish'd  worse? 

Almah.     Neither  your  love  nor  merits  I  compare. 
But  my  unspotted  name  must  be  my  care. 

Almanz.     I  have  this  day  established  its  renown. 

Almah.     Would  you  so  soon  what  you  have  rais'd  throw  down? 

Almanz.     But,  madam,  is  not  yours  a  greater  guilt, 
To  ruin  him  who  has  that  fabric  built  f 

Almah.     No  lover  should  his  mistress'  pray'rs  withstand. 
Yet  you  contemn  my  absolute  commaml. 

Almanz.     'Tis  not  contempt, 
40  When  your  command  is  issued  out  too  late : 
'Tis  past  niy  pow'r,  and  all  beyond  is  fate. 
I  scarce  could  leave  you,  when  to  exile  sent; 
Much  less,  when  now  recall'd  from  banishment: 
For  if  that  heat  your  glances  cast  were  strong. 
Your  eyes,  like  glasses,  fire,  when  held  so  long. 

Almah.     Then,  since  you  needs  will  all  my  weakness  know, 
I  love  you;  and  so  well,  that  you  must  go. 
I  am  so  much  oblig'd,  and  have  withal 
A  heart  so  boundless  and  so  prodigal, 
50  I  dare  not  trust  myself,  or  you,  to  stay. 

But,  like  frank  gamesters,  must  forswear  the  play. 

Almanz.     Fate,  thou  art  kind  to  strike  so  hard  a  blow; 
I  am  quite  stunn'd,  and  past  all  feeling  now. 
Yet — can  you  tell  me  you  have  pow'r  and  will 
To  save  my  life,  and,  at  that  instant,  kill! 

Almah.     This,  had  you  stay'd,  you  never  must  have  known; 
But,  now  you  go,  I  may  with  honor  own. 

Almanz.     But,  madam,  I  am  fore'd  to  disobey: 
In  your  defense,  my  honor  bids  me  stay. 
60  I  promis'd  to  secure  your  life  and  throne, 

And,  heav'n  be  thank'd,  that  work  is  yet  undone. 

Almah.     I  here  make  void  that  promise  which  you  made, 
For  now  I  have  no  farther  need  of  aid. 
That  vow  which  to  my  plighted  lord  was  giv'n 
I  must  not  break,  but  may  transfer  to  heav'n. 
I  will  with  vestals  live : 

66.     vestals]  Qq.    rossals  F. 


PART  II,  ACT  V,  SCENE  III  129 

There  needs  no  guard  at  a  religious  door; 
Few  will  disturb  the  praying  and  the  poor. 

Almanz.     Let  me  but  near  that  happy  temple  stay, 
70  And  thro'  the  grates  peep  on  you  once  a  day; 
To  faniish'd  hope  I  would  no  banquet  give: 
I  cannot  sterve,  and  wish  but  just  to  live. 
Thus,  as  a  drowning  man 
Sinks  often,  and  does  still  more  faintly  rise, 
With  his  last  hold  catching  whate'er  he  spies; 
So,  fall'n  from  those  proud  hopes  I  had  before, 
Your  aid  I  for  a  dying  wretch  implore. 

Almah.     I  cannot  your  hard  destiny  withstand, 
BOABDELiN,  and  Guards  above. 
But  slip,  like  bending  rushes,  from  your  hand. 
80  Sink  all  at  once,  since  you  must  sink  at  last. 

Almanz.     Can  you  that  last  relief  of  sight  remove, 
And  thrust  me  out  the  utmost  line  of  love! 
Then,  since  my  hopes  of  happiness  are  gone, 
Denied  all  favors,  I  will  seize  this  one.     [Catches  her  hand,  and  kisses  it. 

Boab.     My  just  revenge  no  longer  I'll  forbear: 
I've  seen  too  much;  I  need  not  stay  to  hear.  [Descends. 

Almanz.     As  a  small  show'r 
To  the  parch'd  earth  does  some  refreshment  give, 
So,  in  the  strength  of  this,  one  day  I'll  live: 
90  A  day — a  year — an  age — for  ever  now ; 

[Betwixt  each  word  he  Jcisses  her  hand 
by    force;    she    struggling. 
I  feel  from  every  touch  a  new  soul  flow.     [She  snatches  her  hand  away. 
My  hop'd  eternity  of  joy  is  past! 
'Twas  insupportable,  and  could  not  last. 
Were  heav'n  not  made  of  less,  or  duller  joy, 
'Twould  break  each  minute,  and  itself  destroy. 

Enter  King  and  Guards,  below. 

Boab.     This,  this,  is  he  for  whom  thou  didst  deny 
To  share  my  bed. — Let  'em  together  die. 
Almah.     Hear  me,  my  lord. 

Boab.  Your  flatt'ring  arts  are  vain: 

Make  haste  and  execute  what  I  ordain.  [To  Guards. 

100        Almanz.     Cut  piecemeal  in  this  cause, 
From  every  wound  I  should  new  vigor  take, 
And  every  limb  should  new  Almanzors  make. 

[He  puts  himself  before  the  Queen  ;   the 
Guards  attack  him,  with  the  King. 
Enter  Abdelmelech. 

Abdelm.     [To  the  King.]     What  angry  god,  to  exercise  his  spite, 
Has  arm'd  your  left  hand,  to  cut  off  your  right? 

[The  King   turns,  and  the  fight   ceases. 

72.     stcrvc]  Ql.     starve  y2g3y4y5F  SsM. 


130  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

Haste  not  to  give,  but  to  prevent  a  fate; 

The  foes  are  entered  at  the  Elvira  gate: 

False  Lyndaraxa  has  the  town  betray'd, 

And  all  the  Zegrys  give  the  Spaniards  aid. 

Boab.     O  mischief,  not  suspected  nor   foreseen! 
110        Abdelm.     Already  they  have  gain"d  the   Zacatin, 

And  thence  the  Vivarambla  place  possess'd, 

While  our  faint  soldiers  scarce  defend  the  rest. 

The  Duke  of  Arcos  does  one  squadron  head, 

The  next  by  Ferdinand  himself  is  led. 

Almah.    Now,  brave  Almanzor,  be  a  god  again; 

Above  our  crimes  and  your  own  passions  reign. 

My  lord  has  been  by  jealousy  misled. 

To  think  I  was  not  faithful  to  his  bed. 

I  can  forgive  him,  tho'  my  death  he  sought, 
120  For  too  much  love  can  never  be  a  fault. 

Protect  him,  then;  and  what  to  his  defense 

You  give  not,  give  to  clear  my  innocence. 

Almanz.    Listen,  sweet  heav'n,  and  all  ye  blest  above, 

Take  rules  of  virtue  from  a  mortal  love! 

You've  rais'd  my  soul;  and  if  it  mount  more  high, 

'Tis  as  the  wren  did  on  the  eagle  fly. 

Yes,  I  once  more  will  my  revenge  neglect; 

And  whom  you  can  forgive,  I  can  protect. 

Boab.     How  hard  a  fate  is  mine,  still  doom'd  to  shame! 
130  I  make  occasions  for  my  rival's  fame! 

[Exeunt.     An  alarm  within. 

[SCENE  IV] 

Enter  Ferdinand,  Isabel,  Don  Alonzo  d'Aguilar;  Spaniards 
and  Ladies. 

K.  Ferd.    Already  more  than  half  the  town  is  gain'd, 
But  there  is  yet  a  doubtful  fight  maintain'd. 

Alonz.     The  fierce  young  king  the  enter'd  does  attack, 
And  the  more  fierce  Almanzor  drives  'em  back. 

K.  Ferd.     The  valiant  Moors  like  raging  lions  fight; 
Each  youth  encourag'd  by  his  lady's  sight. 

Q.  Isabel.     I  will  advance  Avith  such  a  shining  train 
That  Moorish  beauties  shall   oppose  in  vain; 
Into  the  press  of  clashing  swords  we'll  go, 
10  And,  where  the  darts  fly  thickest,  seek  the  foe. 

K.  Ferd.     May  heav"n,  which  has  inspir'd  this  gen'rous  thought, 
Avert  those  dangers  you  have  boldly  sought! 
Call  up  more  troops ;  the  women,  to  our  shame, 
"Will  ra\-ish  from  the  men  their  part  of  fame. 

[Exeunt  Isabella  and  Ladies. 

105.     Haste     .     .     .  ■    fate]  QqF.     Omitted  in  SsM. 

Scene  IV.]    QqF  SsM  again  fail  to  note  a  necessary  change  of  scene. 


PAET  II,  ACT  V,  SCENE  IV  131 

Enter  Aldbez,  and  Jcisses  the  King's  hand. 

Alabez.    Fair  Lyndaraxa,  and  the  Zegry  line, 
Have  led  their  forces  with  your  troops  to  join: 
The  adverse  part,  which  obstinately  fought. 
Are  broke,  and  Abdelmelech  jiris'ner  brought. 

E.  Ferd.     Fair  Lyndaraxa  and  her  friends  shall  find 
20  Th'  effects  of  an  oblig"d  and  grateful  mind. 

Alabez.     But,  marching  by  the  Vivarambla  place, 
The  combat  carried  a  more  doubtful  face: 
In  that  vast  square  the  Moors  and  Spaniards  met, 
Where  the  fierce  conflict  is  continued  yet; 
But  with  advantage  on  the  adverse  side, 
Whom  fierce  Almanzor  does  to  conquest  guide. 

K.  Ferd.     With  my  Castilian  foot  I  '11  meet  his  rage ; 

[Is  going  out:  shouts  within  are  heard: 
"Victoria!    Victoria!" 
But  these  loud  clamors  better  news  presage. 

Enter  the  Dule  of  Arcos  and  Soldiers;   their  Swords  drawn 
and  bloody. 

D.  Arcos.     Granada  now  is  yours;  and  there  remain 
30  No  Moors  but  such  as  own  the  pow'r  of  Spain. 

That  squadron  which  their  king  in  person  led, 

We  charg'd,  but  found  Almanzor  in  their  head: 

Three  several  times  we  did  the  Moors  attack, 

And  thrice  with  slaughter  did  he  drive  us  back. 

Our  troops  then  shrunk;  and  still  we  lost  more  ground, 

Till  from  our  queen  we  needful  succor  found: 

Her  guards  to  our  assistance  bravely  flew. 

And  with  fresh  vigor  did  the  fight  renew. 

At  the  same  time 
40  Did  Lyndara.xa  with  her  troops  appear, 

And,  while  we  charg'd  the  front,  ingag'd  the  rear; 

Then  fell  the  king,  slain  by  a  Zegry's  hand. 

K.  Ferd.     How  could  he  such  united  force  withstand! 

D.  Arcos.     Discourag'd  with  his  death,  the  Moorish  pow'rs 

Fell  back,  and,  falling  back,  were  press'd  by  ours ; 

But  as,  when  winds  and  rain  together  croAvd, 

They  swell  till  they  have  burst  the  bladder'd  cloud; 

And  first  the  lightning,  flashing  deadly  clear, 

Flies,  falls,  consumes,  ere  scarce  it  does  appear, —  i 

50  So,  from  his  shrinking  troops,  Almanzor  flew; 

Each  blow  gave  wounds,  and  with  each  wound  he  slew: 

His  force  at  once  I  envied  and  admir'd. 

And  rushing  forward,  where  my  men  retird, 

41.  ingar/'d]  0102030.").  rnfjnci'd  F.  Two  pages  of  toxt  arc  here  omitted 
in  Q4,  in  which  {in  the  Harvard  Lilirary  copy  i   the  pages  run  l.'{.'{.  IMti.  1.S7.  etc. 

49.  ere  scarce  it  does  appear]  Q1Q2Q3.  Q")  destroys  meter  hy  omitting 
scarce;  F  restores  meter  by  reading  before  it  does  appear.  SsM  read 
kills  ere  it  does  appear. 


} 


132  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Advanc'd  alone. 

K.  Ferd.     You  hazarded  too  far 

Your  person,  and  the  fortune  of  the  war. 

C  Arcos.     Already  both  our  arms  for  fight  did  bare, 

Already  held  'em  threat'ning  in  the  air, 

When  heav'n  (it  must  be  heav'n)  my  sight  did  guide 

To  view  his  arm,  upon  whose  wrist  I  spied 
60  A  ruby  cross  in  diamond  bracelets  tied; 

And  just  above  it,  in  the  brawnier  part, 

By  nature  was  engrav'd  a  bloody  heart. 

Struck  with  these  tokens,  which  so  well  I  knew, 

And  stagg'ring  back,  some  paces  I  withdrew: 

He  follow'd,  and  suppos'd  it  was  my  fear; 

When,  from  above,  a  shrill  voice  reach'd  his  ear: — 

"Strike  not  thy  father!" — it  was  heard  to  cry. 

Aniaz'd,  and  casting  round  his  wond'ring  eye, 

He  stopp'd;   then,  thinking  that  his  fears  were  vain, 
70  He  lifted  up  his  thund'ring  arm  again. 

Again  the  voice  withheld  him  from  my  death: 

"Spare,  spare  his  life,"  it  cried,  "who  gave  thee  breath!" 

Once  more  he  stopp'd;   then  threw  his  sword  away; 

"Blest  shade,"  he  said,  "I  hear  thee,  I  obey 

Thy  sacred  voice;"  then,  in  the  sight  of  all, 

He  at  my  feet,  I  on  his  neck  did  fall. 
K.  Ferd.    O  blest  event! 
B.  Arcos.  The  Moors  no  longer  fought; 

But  all  their  safety  by  submission  sought : 

Meantime  my  son  grew  faint  with  loss  of  blood, 
80  And  on  his  bending  sword  supported  stood; 

Yet,  with  a  voice  beyond  his  strength,  he  cried: 

"Lead  me  to  live  or  die  by  Almahide." 

2f.  Ferd.     I  am  not  for  his  wounds  less  griev'd  than  you; 

For,  if  what  now  my  soul  divines  prove  true, 

This  is  that  son  whom  in  his  infancy 

You  lost,  when  by  my  father  forc'd  to  fly. 

D.  Arcos.     His  sister's  beauty  did  my  passion  move 

(The  crime  for  which  I  suflfer'd  was  my  love.) 

Our  marriage  known,  to  sea  we  took  our  flight: 
90  There,  in  a  storm,  Almanzor  first  saw  light. 

On  his  right  arm  a  bloody  heart  was  grav'd, 

(The  mark  by  which,  this  day,  my  life  was  sav'd:) 

The  bracelets  and  the  cross  his  mother  tied 

About  his  wrist,  ere  she  in  childbed  died. 

How  we  were  captives  made,  when  she  was  dead. 

And  how  Almanzor  was  in  Afric  bred. 

Some  other  hour  you  may  at  leisure  hear, 

For  see,  the  queen  in  triumph  does  appear. 


84.     proved  Q1Q2Q3.     vroves  Q.5F. 
95.     captives]  QqF.     captive  SsM. 


PAET  II,  ACT  V,  SCENE  IV  133 

Enter  Queen  Isabel,  Lyndaraxa,  Ladies,  Moors  and  Span- 
iards mix'd  as  Guards;  Abdelmelech,  Abenamar,  Selin, 
Pris'ners. 

E.  Ferd.     [Embracing  Q.  Isabel.]     All  stories  which  Granada's  con- 
quest tell 
100  Shall  celebrate  the  name  of  Isabel. 

Your  ladies,  too,  who  in  their  country's  cause 
Led  on  the  men,  shall  share  in  your  applause; 
And,  for  your  sakes,  henceforward  I  ordain, 
No  lady's  dow'r  shall  question'd  be  in  Spain. 
Fair  Lyndaraxa,  for  the  help  she  lent, 
Shall,  under  tribute,  have  this  government. 

Abdelm.     O  heav'n,  that  I  should  live  to  see  this  dayl 

Lyndar.     You  murmur  now,  but  you  shall  soon  obey. 
I  knew  this  empire  to  my  fate  was  ow'd; 
110  Heav'n  held  it  back  as  long  as  e'er  it  could. 

For  thee,  base  wretch,  I  want  a  torture  yet —  [To  Abdelm. 

I'll  cage  thee;  thou  shalt  be  my  Bajazet, 

I  on  no  pavement  but  on  thee  will  tread; 

And,  when  I  mount,  my  foot  shall  know  thy  head. 

Abdelm.     [Stabbing  her  with  a  poniard.]     This  first  shall  know  thy 
heart. 

Lyndar.  O!    I  am  slain! 

Abdelm.     Now,  boast  thy  country  is  betray'd  to  Spain. 

K.  Ferd.     Look  to  the  lady! — Seize  the  murderer! 

Abdelm.     [Stabbing  himself.]     I'll  do  myself  that  justice  I  did  her. 
Thy  blood  I  to  thy  ruin'd  country  give,  [To  Lyndar. 

120  But  love  too  well  thy  murther  to  outlive. 
Forgive  a  love,  excus'd  by  its  excess. 
Which,  had  it  not  been  cruel,  had  been  less. 
Condemn  my  passion,  then,  but  pardon  me. 
And  think  1  murder'd  him  who  murder'd  thee.  [Dies. 

Lyndar.    Die  for  us  both;  I  have  not  leisure  now; 
A  crown  is  come,  and  will  not  fate  allow; — 
And  yet  1  feel  something  like  death  is  near. 
My  guards,  my  guards — 
Let  not  that  ugly  skeleton  appear! 
130  Sure  Destiny  mistakes;    this  death's  not   mine; 
She  dotes,  and  meant  to  cut  another  line. 

Tell  her  I  am  a  queen but  'tis  too  late; 

Dying,  1  charge  rebellion  on  my  fate. 

Bow  down,  ye  slaves [To   the  Moors. 

Bow  quickly   down,  and   your  submission  show. —  [They   boiv. 

I'm  pleas'd  to  taste  an  empire  ere  I  go.  [Dies. 

Selin.     She's  dead,  and  here  her  proud  ambition  ends. 

Aben.     Such  fortune  still  such  black  designs  attends. 

K.  Ferd.     Kemove  those  mournful  objects  from  our  eyes, 
140  And  see  perform'd  their  funeral  obsequies.  [The  bodies  carried  of. 

118.     I'll  do]  QqF.    /  do  SsM. 


134  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

Enter  Almanzor  and  Almahide,  Ozmyn  and  Benzayda;  Al- 
MAHiDE  brought  in  a  chair;  Almanzoe  led  betwixt  Soldiers. 
Isabel  salutes  Almahide  in  dumb  show. 

D.  Arcos.     [Presenting  Almanzor  to  the  King.^     See  here  that  son 
whom  I  with  pride  call  mine ; 
And  who  dishonors  not  your  royal  line. 

K.  Ferd.     I'm  now  secure,  this  scepter,  which  I  gain, 
Shall  be  continued  in  the  pow'r  of  Spain; 
Since  he,  who  could  alone  my  foes  defend. 
By  birth  and  honor  is  become  my  friend; 

Yet  I  can  own  no  joy,  nor  conquest  boast,  [To  Almanz. 

While  in  this  blood  I  see  how  dear  it  cost. 

Almanz.     This  honor  to  my  veins  new  blood  will  bring; 
IbO  Streams  cannot  fail,  fed  by  so  high  a  spring. 
But  all  court  customs  I  so  little  know 
That  I  may  fail  in  those  respects  I  owe. 
I  bring  a  heart  which  homage  never  knew; 
Yet  it  finds  something  of  itself  in  you : 
Something  so  kingly  that  my  haughty  mind 
Is  drawn  to  yours,  because  'tis  of  a  kind. 

Q.  Isabel.    And  yet  that  soul  which  bears  itself  so  high. 
If  fame  be  true,  admits  a  sovereignty. 
This  queen,  in  her  fair  eyes,  such  fetters  brings 
160  As  chain  that  heart  which  scorns  the  pow'r  of  kings. 

Almah.     Little  of  charm  in  these  sad  eyes  appears; 
If  they  had  any,  now  'tis  lost  in  tears. 
A  crown  and  husband  ravish'd  in  one  day! 
Excuse  a  grief  I  cannot  choose  but  pay. 

Q.  Isabel.     Have  courage,  madam;  heav'n  has  joys  in  store 
To  recompense  those  losses  you  deplore. 

Almah.     I  know  your  God  can  all  my  woes  redress; 
To  him  I  made  my  vows  in  my  distress: 
And  what  a  misbeliever  vow'd  this  day, 

179  Tho'  not  a  queen,  a  Christian  yet  shall  pay. 

Q.   Isabel.      [Embracing   her.]      That   Christian   name   you   shall   re- 
ceive from  me. 
And  Isabella  of  Granada  be. 

Bens.     This  blessed  change  we  all  with  joy  receive; 
And  beg  to  learn  that  faith  which  you  believe. 

Q.  Isabel.     With  reverence  for  those  holy  rites  prepare; 
And  all  commit  your  fortunes  to  my  care. 

K.  Ferd.     [To  Almah.]     You,  madam,  by  that  crown  you  lose,  may 
gain. 
If  you  accept  a  coronet  of  Spain, 
Of  which  Almanzor's  father  stands  possess'd. 

180  Q.  Isabel.     [To  Almah.]     May  you  in  him,  and  he  in  you,  be  blest  I 
Almah.     I  owe  my  life  and  honor  to  his  sword; 

But  owe  my  love  to  my  departed  lord. 

Almanz,     Thus,  when  1  have  no  living  force  to  dread, 
Fate  finds  me  enemies  amongst  the  dead. 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA  135 

I'm  now  to  conquer  ghosts,  and  to  destroy 

The  strong  impressions  of  a  bridal  joy. 

Almah.    You've  yet  a  greater  foe  than  these  can  be: 

Virtue  opposes  you,  and  modesty. 

Almans.     From  a  false  fear  that  modesty  does  grow, 
190  And  thinks  true  lovo,  because  'tis  fierce,  its  foe. 

'Tis  but  the  wax  whose  seals  on  virgins  stay: 

Let  it  approach  love's  fire,  'twill  melt  away. 

But  I  have  liv'd  too  long;   I  never  knew, 

When  fate  was  conquer'd,  I  must  combat  you. 

I  thought  to  climb  the  steep  ascent  of  love; 

But  did  not  think  to  find  a  foe  above. 

'Tis  time  to  die,  when  you  my  bar  must  be. 

Whose  aid  alone  could  give  me  victory; 

Without, 
200  I'll  pull  up  all  the  sluices  of  the  flood, 

And  love,  within,  shall  boil  out  all  my  blood. 

Q.  Isabel.     Fear  not  your  love  should  find  so  sad  success. 

While  I  have  pow'r  to  be  your  patroness. 

I  am  her  parent  now,  and  may  command 

So  much  of  duty  as  to  give  her  hand.         [Gives  him  Almahide's  hand. 
Almah.     Madam,  I  never  can  dispute  your  pow'r, 

Or  as  a  parent,  or  a  conqueror ; 

But,  when  my  year  of  widowhood  expires, 

Shall  yield  to  your  commands  and  his  desires. 
210         Almanz.     Move  swiftly,  sun,  and  fly  a  lover's  pace; 

Leave  weeks  and  months  behind  thee  in  thy  race! 

E.  Ferd.     Meantime,  you  shall  my  victories  pursue, 

The  Moors  in  woods  and  mountains  to  subdue. 

Almanz.     The  toils  of  war  shall  help  to  wear  each  day, 

And  dreams  of  love  shall  drive  my  nights  away. 

Our  banners  to  th'  Alhambra's  turrets  bear; 

Then,  wave  our  conqu'ring  crosses  in  the  air, 

And  cry,  with  shouts  of  triumph:    "Live  and  reign, 

Great  Ferdinand  and  Isabel  of  Spain!" 

209.     commands]  QqF.    command  SsM. 


EPILOGUE 

They  who  have  best  succeeded  on  the  stage 
Have  still  conform'd  their  genius  to  their  age. 
Thus  Jonson  did  mechanic  humor  show, 
When  men  were  dull,  and  conversation  low. 
Then   comedy   was   faultless,   but   'twas   coarse: 
Cob"s  tankard  was  a  jest,  and  Otter's  horse. 
And,  as  their  comedy,  their  love  was  mean; 
Except,  by  chance,  in  some  one  labor'd  scene 
Which  must  atone   for  an  ill-written  play. 

10  They  rose,  but  at  their  height  could  seldom  stay. 

Fame  then  was  cheap,  and  the  first  comer  sped; 
And  they  have  kept  it  since,  by  being  dead. 
But,  were  they  now  to  write,  when  critics  weigh 
Each  line,  and  ev'ry  word,  throughout  a  play, 
None  of  'em,  no,  not  Jonson  in  his  height. 
Could  pass,  without  allowing  grains  for  weight. 
Think  it  not  envy,  that  these  truths  are  told; 
Our  poet's  not  malicious,  tho"  he's  bold. 
'Tis  not  to  brand  'em,  that  their  faults  are  shown, 

20  But,  by  their  errors,  to  excuse  his  own. 

If  love  and  honor  now  are  higher  rais'd, 
'Tis  not  the  poet,  but  the  age  is  prais'd. 
Wit's  now  arriv'd  to  a  more  high  degree; 
Our  native  language  more  refin'd  and  free. 
Our  ladies  and  our  men  now  speak  more  vdt 
In  conversation,  than  those  poets  writ. 
Then,  one  of  these  is,  consequently,  true; 
That  what  this  poet  writes  comes  short  of  you, 
And  imitates  you  ill,   (which  most  he  fears,) 

30         Or  else  his  writing  is  not  worse  than  theirs. 
Yet,  tho'  you  judge  (as  sure  the  critics  will) 
That  some  before  him  writ  with  greater  skill, 
In  this  one  praise  he  has  their  fame  surpass'd. 
To  please  an  age  more  gallant  than  the  last. 


136 


DEFENSE 

OF 

THE  EPILOGUE 

OR 

An  Essay  on  the  Dramatic  Poetry 

Of  the  Last  Age 

The  promises  of  authors  that  they  will  write  again  are,  in  effect, 
a  threafning  of  their  readers  with  some  new  impertinence;  and 
they  who  perform  not  what  they  promise  will  have  their  pardon  on  easy 
terms.  Tis  from  this  consideration  that  I  could  be  glad  to  spare  you 
the  trouble,  which  I  am  now  giving  you,  of  a  postscript,  if  I  were  not 
oblig'd,  by  many  reasons,  to  write  somewhat  concerning  our  present 
plays,  and  those  of  our  predecessors  on  the  English  stage.  The  truth 
is,  I  have  so  far  ingag'd  myself  in  a  bold  epilogue  to  this  play,  ^vherein 
I  have  somewhat  tax'd  the  former  writing,  that  it  was  necessary  for  me 

10  either  not  to  print  it,  or  to  show  that  I  could  defend  it.  Yet  I  would 
so  maintain  my  opinion  of  the  present  age,  as  not  to  be  wanting  in 
my  veneration  for  the  past:  I  would  ascribe  to  dead  authors  their  just 
praises  in  those  things  wherein  they  have  excell'd  us;  and  in  those 
wherein  we  contend  with  them  for  the  preeminence,  I  would  acknowl- 
edge our  advantages  to  the  age,  and  claim  no  victory  from  our  wit. 
This  being  what  I  have  propos'd  to  myself,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be 
thought  arrogant  when  I  inquire  into  their  errors.  For  we  live  in  an 
age  so  sceptical  that,  as  it  determines  little,  so  it  takes  nothing  from 
antiquity   on   trust;    and   I  profess  to   have   no   other  ambition   in   this 

20  essay  than  that  poetry  may  not  go  backward,  when  all  other  arts  and 
sciences  are  advancing.  Whoever  censures  me  for  this  inquiry,  let 
him  hear  his  character  from  Horace: 

Ingcniis  non  ille  favct,  plauditque  sepultis, 
Nostra  sed  imp\ignat ;  nos  nostraque  lividus  odit. 

He  favors  not  dead  wits;   but  hates  the  living. 

It  was  upbraided  to  that  excellent  poet  that  he  was  an  enemy  to  the 

Thp  DEFnxsE  OF  thk  Epiloguf,  is  omitted  from  Q4  and  sul>soquont  oditions, 
and  from  some  copies  of  Q8  (spo  liritiyh  Mimrum  Ciitnlofiiic)  ;  in  i>tlior  o<ipies 
of  Q'.i  (as  in  that  at  the  Harvard  Lil)rar.v)  it  is  rotainiHi.  witli  tfio  omission  of 
two  passages  censuring  Ben  .Jonson  :  (a)  from  p.  140.  1.  10.  /  cast  my  eyes 
through  p.  141,  1.  4;{,  so  atiiall  a  vnmpnss;  and  (b)  from  p.  142,  1.  7.  /  think 
tlirougli  p.  1412,  1.  11,  iti  .Ifinsiin.  (Tlie  piece  had  lieen  torn  out  from  the 
Harvard  copy  of  Q2,  tl;e  only  one  a<cessil)le  to  the  editor.) 

5.     postscript]  Q.'}.    preface  Ql.  probably  by  an  oversight  on  Dryden's  part. 

137 


138  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

writings  of  his  predecessor  Lucilius,  because  he  had  said,  Lucilium  lutu- 
lentum  ftuere,  that  he  ran  muddy;  and  that  he  ought  to  have  retrench'd 
from  his  satires  many  unnecessary  verses.  But  Horace  makes  Lucilius 
himself  to  justify  him  from  the  imputation  of  envy,  by  telling  you  that 
he  would  have  done  the  same,  had  he  liv'd  in  an  age  which  was  more 
refin'd : 

Si  foret  hoc  nostrum  fato  delapsus  in  cevum, 
Detraheret  sibi  multa,  recideret  oinne  quod  ultra 
Perfectum  traheretur,  &c. 

10  And,  both  in  the  whole  course  of  that  satire,  and  in  his  most  ad- 
mirable Epistle  to  Augustus,  he  makes  it  his  business  to  prove  that  an- 
tiquity alone  is  no  plea  for  the  excellency  of  a  poem ;  but  that,  one 
age  learning  from  another,  the  last  (if  we  can  suppose  an  equality  of 
wit  in  the  writers)  has  the  advantage  of  knowing  more  and  better  than 
the  former.  And  this,  I  think,  is  the  state  of  the  question  in  dispute. 
It  is  therefore  my  part  to  make  it  clear,  that  the  language,  wit,  and 
conversation  of  our  age  are  improv'd  and  refin'd  above  the  last;  and 
then  it  will  not  be  difBcult  to  infer  that  our  plays  have  receiv'd  some 
part  of  those  advantages. 

20  In  the  first  place,  therefore,  it  will  be  necessary  to  state,  in  general, 
what  this  refinement  is,  of  which  we  treat;  and  that,  I  think,  will  not 
be  defin'd  amiss:  An  improvement  of  our  Wit,  Language,  and  Con- 
versation; or  an  alteration  iii  them  for  the  better. 

To  begin  with  Language.  That  an  alteration  is  lately  made  in  ours, 
or  since  the  writers  of  the  last  age  (in  which  I  comprehend  Shak- 
spere,  Fletcher,  and  Jonson),  is  manifest.  Any  man  who  reads  those 
excellent  poets,  and  compares  their  language  with  what  is  now  written, 
will  see  it  almost  in  every  line.  But  that  this  is  an  improvement  of 
the   language,   or   an   alteration    for   the   better,   will   not   so    easily   be 

30  granted.  For  many  are  of  a  contrary  opinion,  that  the  English  tongue 
was  then  in  the  height  of  its  perfection;  that  from  Jonson's  time  to 
ours  it  has  been  in  a  continual  declination,  like  that  of  the  Eomans 
from  the  age  of  Virgil  to  Statius,  and  so  downward  to  Claudian;  of 
which,  not  only  Petronius,  but  Quintilian  himself  so  much  complains, 
under  the  person  of  Secundus,  in  his  famous  dialogue  De  Causis  Cor-' 
ruptce  Eloquentice. 

But,  to  shew  that  our  language  is  improv'd,  and  that  those  people 
have  not  a  just  value  for  the  age  in  which  they  live,  let  us  consider  in 
what  the  refinement  of  a  language  principally  consists:    that  is,  either 

40  in  rejecting  such  old  words,  or  phrases,  which  are  ill  sounding,  or  im- 
proper; or  in  admitting  new,  which  are  more  proper,  more  sounding, 
and  more  significant. 

The  reader  will  easily  take  notice  that,  when  I  speak  of  rejecting 
improper  words  and  phrases,  I  mention  not  such  as  are  antiquated  by 
custom  only,  and,  as  I  may  say,  without  any  fault  of  theirs;  for  in  this 
case  the  refinement  can  be  but  accidental;  that  is,  when  the  words  and 
phrases  which  are  rejected  happen   to   be  improper.     Neither  would   I 

1.     lutulentum]   Q3.     luculentum  Ql. 
8.     Detraheret]   Q1Q3.     Detereret  SsM. 
recideret]   Q3  SsM.     recederet  Ql. 


DEFENSE  OF  THE  EPILOGUE  139 

be  understood,  when  I  speak  of  impropriety  in  language,  either  A\holly 
to  accuse  the  last  age,  or  to  excuse  the  present,  and  least  of  all  myself; 
for  all  writers  have  their  imperfections  and  failings;  but  I  may  safely 
conclude,  in  the  general,  that  our  improprieties  are  less  frequent  and 
less  gross  than  tlieirs.  One  testimony  of  this  is  undeniable,  that  we 
are  the  first  who  have  observ'd  them;  and,  certainly,  to  observe  errors 
is  a  great  step  to  the  correcting  of  them.  But,  malice  and  partiality 
set  apart,  let  any  man  who  understands  English  read  diligently  the 
works  of  Shakspere  and  Fletcher,  and  I  dare  undertake  that  he  will 
10  find  in  every  page  either  some  solecism  of  speech,  or  some  notorious 
flaw  in  sense;  and  yet  these  men  are  reverenc'd,  when  we  are  not  for- 
given. That  their  wit  is  great,  and  many  times  their  expressions 
noble,  envy  itself  cannot   deny. 

Neque  ego   ilUs  detrahere  ausim 
Hcereniem  capiti  multa  cum  laude  coronam. 

But  the  times  were  ignorant  in  which  they  liv'd.  Poetry  was  then,  if 
not  in  its  infancy  among  us.  at  least  not  arriv'd  to  its  vigor  and  ma- 
turity. Witness  the  lameness  of  their  plots;  many  of  which,  especially 
those  which  they  writ  first    (for  even  that  age  refin'd  itself  in   some 

20  measure),  were  made  up  of  some  ridiculous,  incoherent  story,  which  in 
one  play  many  times  took  up  the  business  of  an  age.  I  suppose  I  need 
not  name  Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre,  nor  the  historical  plays  of  Shak- 
spere; besides  many  of  the  rest,  as  The  Winter's  Tale,  Love's  Labor 
Lost,  Measure  for  Measure,  which  were  either  grounded  on  impossibili- 
ties, or  at  least  so  meanly  written,  that  the  comedy  neither  caus'd  your 
mirth,  nor  the  serious  part  your  concernment.  If  I  would  expatiate  on 
this  subject,  I  could  easily  demonstrate  that  our  admir'd  Fletcher,  who 
writ  after  him,  neither  understood  correct  plotting,  nor  that  which  they 
call  the  decorum  of  the  stage.     I  would  not  search  in  his  worst  plays 

80  for  examples:  he  who  will  consider  his  Philaster,  his  Humorous  Lieu- 
tenant, his  Faithful  Shepherdess,  and  many  others  which  I  could  name, 
will  find  them  much  below  the  applause  which  is  now  given  them.  He 
will  see  Philaster  wounding  his  mistress,  and  afterwards  his  boy,  to 
save  himself;  not  to  mention  the  Clown,  who  enters  immediately,  and 
not  only  has  the  advantage  of  the  combat  against  the  hero,  but  diverts 
you  from  your  serious  concernment,  with  his  ridiculous  and  absurd 
raillery.  In  his  Rtimorous  Lieutenant  you  find  his  Demetrius  and 
Leontius  staying  in  the  midst  of  a  routed  army,  to  hear  the  cold  mirth 
of  the  Lieutenant;   and  Demetrius  afterwards  appearing  with  a  pistol 

40  in  his  hand,  in  the  next  age  to  Alexander  the  Great.  And  for  his  Shep- 
herd, he  falls  twice  into  the  former  indecency  of  wounding  women. 
But  these  absurdities  which  those  poets  committed  may  more  properly 
be  calld  the  age's  fault  than  theirs.  For,  besides  the  want  of  educa- 
tion and  learning  (which  was  their  particular  unhappiness),  they 
wanted  the  benefit  of  converse.  But  of  that  I  shall  speak  hereafter,  in 
a  place  more  proper  for  it.  Their  audiences  knew  no  better,  and  there- 
fore were  satisfied  with  what  they  brought.  Those  who  call  theirs  the 
golden  age  of  poetry  have  only  this  reason  for  it,  that  they  were  then 
content  with  acorns,  before  they  knew   the  use  of  bread;   or  that  aXtj 


1.     in  language]  QIQX    ot  language  SsMK. 


140  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GKANADA 

Spuos  was  become  a  proverb.  They  had  many  Avho  admir'd  them,  and 
few  who  blam'd  them;  and  certainly  a  severe  critic  is  the  greatest  help 
to  a  good  wit:  he  does  the  office  of  a  friend,  while  he  designs  that  of 
an  enemy  J  and  his  malice  keeps  a  poet  within  those  bounds  which  the 
luxurianey  of  his  fancy  would  tempt  him  to  overleap. 

But  it  is  not  their  plots  which  I  meant  principally  to  tax;  I  was 
speaking  of  their  sense  and  language;  and  I  dare  almost  challenge  any 
man  to  show  me  a  page  together  which  is  correct  in  both.  As  for  Ben 
Jonson,  I  am  loth  to  name  him,because  he  is  a  most  judicious  writer;  yet 
10  he  very  often  falls  into  these  errors:  and  I  once  more  beg  the  reader's 
pardon  for  accusing  him  or  them.  Only  let  him  consider  that  I  live  in 
an  age  where  m.y  least  faults  are  severely  censur'd;  and  that  I  have  no 
way  left  to  extenuate  my  failings,  but  my  showing  as  great  in  those 
whom  we  admire: 

Ccedimus,  inque  vicem  pncbcmus  crura  sagittis. 

I  cast  my  eyes  but  by  chance  on  Catiline;  and  in  the  three  or  four  first 

pages,  found  enough  to  conclude  that  Jonson  writ  not  correctly. 

T-et  Iho  Ions-hid  seeds 
Of  treason,   in  thee,  now  shoot  forth  in  deeds 
20  Ranker  llian  liorror. 

In  reading  some  bombast  speeches  of  Macbeth,  which  are  not  to  be  un- 
derstood, he  us'd  to  say  that  it  was  horror;  and  I  am  much  afraid  that 
this  is  so. 

Thy  parricide  late  on  thy  only  son. 

After  his  mother,  to  make  empty  way 

For  thy  last  wickei:!  nuptials,  worse  than  they 

That  blaze  that  act  of  thy  incestuous  life, 

Which  gain'd  thee  at  once  a  daughter  and  a  wife. 

The  sense  is  here  extremely  perplex'd;   and  I  Uoubt  the  word  they  is 
30  false  grammar. 

And  be  free 
Not  heaven  itself  from  thy  impiety. 

A  syiichijs'is,  or  ill-placing  of  words,  of  which  Tully  so  much  complains 

in  oratory. 

The  waves  and  dens  of  beasts  could  not  receive 
The  bodies  that  those  souls  were  frighted  from. 

The  preposition  in  the  end  of  the  sentence;  a  common  fault  with  him, 
and  which  I  have  but  lately  observ'd  in  my  own  writings. 

What  all   the  several  ills  that  visit  earth. 
40  I'laguo,  famine,  tire,  could  not  reach  unto, 

The  sword  nor  surfeits,  let  thy  fury  do. 

Here  are  both  the  former  faults:    for,  besides  that  the  preposition  iinto 
is  plac'd  last  in  the  verse,  and  at   the   half   period,   and  is   redundant, 
there  is   the   former  synchysis  in  the  words   "the   sword   nor   surfeits," 
which  in  construction  ought  to  have  been  plac'd  before  the  other. 
Catiline  says  of  Cethegus,  that  for  his  sake  he  would 


11.  or  them]  Q1Q3.     of  them  SsMK. 

13.  my  shoirimj]  Q1Q3.     hij  showint/  SsMK. 

15.  crura]   Q3.     cura  Ql. 

16.  first]  Ql.     last  SsMK. 


DEFENSE  OF  THE  EPILOGUE  141 

Go  on  upon  the  gods,  kiss  lightning,  wrest 
The  engine  from  the  Cyclops,  and  give  fire 
At  face  of  a  full  cloud,  and  stand  his  ire. 

To  "go  on  upon"  is  only  to  go  on  twice.     To  '"give  fire  at   face  of  a 

full  cloud'  was  not  understood  in  his  own  time;   "and  stand  his  ire," 

besides  the  antiquated   word  ire,  there  is  the  article   his,  which  makes 

false  construction:   and  giving  fire  at  the  face  of  a  cloud  is  a  perfect 

image    of   shooting,   however   it    came   to    be   known    in    those    days   to 

Catiline. 

10  Others  there  are. 

Whom  onvy  to  the  State  draws  and  pulls  on. 

For  contumelies  receiv'd  ;  and  such  are  sure  ones. 

Ones,  in  the  plural  number:  but  that  is  frequent  with  him;  for  he  says, 
not  long  after, 

Caesar  and  Crassus,  If  they  be  ill  men, 
Are  mighty  ones. 

Such  men,  they  do  not  succor  more  the  cause,  &c. 

They  redundant. 

Tho'   heav'n  should   speak   with  all   his  wrath  at  once, 
20  We  should  stand  upright  and  unfeard. 

Eis  is  ill  syntax  with  heaven;  and  by  unfear'd  he  means  unafraid: 
words  of  a  quite  contrary  signification. 

The  ports  are  open. 

He  perpetually  uses  ports  for  gates;  which  is  an  affected  error  in 
him,  to  introduce  Latin  by  the  loss  of  the  English  idiom;  as  in  the 
translation  of  Tully's  speeches  he  usually  does. 

Well-placing  of  words,  for  the  sweetness  of  pronunciation,  was  not 
known  till  Mr.  Waller  introduc'd  it;  and,  therefore,  'tis  not  to  be 
wonder'd  if  Ben  Jonson  has  many  such  lines  as  these: 

30  But  being  bred  up  in  his  father's  needy  fortunes  ; 

Brought  up  in  's  sister's  prostitution,  &c. 

But  meanness  of  expression  one  would  think  not  to  be  his  error  in 
a  tragedy,  which  ought  to  be  more  high  and  sounding  than  any  other 
kind  of  poetry;  and  yet,  amongst  many  others  in  Catiline,  I  find  these 
four  lines  together: 


■"o^ 


So  Asia,  thou  art  cruelly  even 
With  us.  for  all  the  blows  thee  given  ; 
When  we.  whose  virtues  couquer'd  thee, 
Thus  by  thy  vices  ruin'd  be. 

40  Be  there  is  false  English  for  are ;  tho'  the  rime  hides  it. 

But  I  am  willing  to  close  the  book,  partly  out  of  veneration  to  the 
author,  partly  out  of  weariness  to  pursue  an  argument  which  is  so 
fruitful  in  so  small  a  compass.     And  what  correctness,  after  this,  can  be 

2S.      'tis\   Ql.     it  is  SsMK. 

30,  .31.     Hut  vrostitittion,    etc.]       Not    printed    as    verse    in    Qi 

SsK  ;  as  verse  in  M. 

34.     many]  gi.     Omitted  in  SsMK. 


142  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

expected  from  Shakspere  or  from  Fletcher,  who  wanted  that  learning 
and  care  which  Jonson  had?  I  will,  therefore,  spare  my  own  trouble 
of  inquiring  into  their  faults;  who,  had  they  liv'd  now,  had  doubtlesa 
written  more  correctly,  I  suppose  it  will  be  enough  for  me  to  aflirm 
(as  I  think  I  safely  may),  that  these,  and  the  like  errors,  which  I 
tax'd  in  the  most  correct  of  the  last  age,  are  such  into  which  we  do  not 
ordinarily  fall.  I  think  few  of  our  present  writers  would  have  left 
behind  them  such  a  line  as  this: 

Contain  your  spirit  in  more  stricter  bounds. 

10  But  that  gross  way  of  two  comparatives  was  then  ordinary,  and 
therefore  more  pardonable  in  Jonson. 

As  for  the  other  part  of  refining,  which  consists  in  receiving  new 
words  and  phrases,  I  shall  not  insist  much  on  it.  'Tis  obvious  that  we 
have  admitted  many,  some  of  which  we  wanted,  and  therefore  our  lan- 
guage is  the  richer  for  them,  as  it  would  be  by  importation  of  bullion. 
Others  are  rather  ornamental  than  necessary;  yet,  by  their  admission, 
the  language  is  become  more  courtly,  and  our  thoughts  are  better  dress'd. 
These  are  to  be  found  scatter'd  in  the  writers  of  our  age,  and  it  is  not 
my  business  to  collect  them.     They  who  have  lately  written  with   most 

20  care  have,  I  believe,  taken  the  rule  of  Horace  for  their  guide;  that  is, 
not  to  be  too  hasty  in  receiving  of  words,  but  rather  to  stay  till  custom 
has  made  them  familiar  to  us: 

Qucni  pcnC'i  arbitriiim  est,  et  jus,  et  norma  loquendi. 

For  I  cannot  approve  of  their  way  of  refining  who  corrupt  our 
English  idiom  by  mixing  it  too  much  with  French:  that  is  a  sophistica- 
tion of  language,  not  an  improvement  of  it;  a  turning  English  into 
French,  rather  than  a  refining  of  English  by  French.  We  meet  daily 
with  those  fops  who  value  themselves  on  their  traveling,  and  pretend 
they  cannot  express  their  meaning  in  English,  because  they  would  put 

30  off  to  us  some  French  phrase  of  the  last  edition;  without  considering 
that,  for  aught  they  know,  we  have  a  better  of  our  own.  But  these  are 
not  the  men  who  are  to  refine  us;  their  talent  is  to  prescribe  fashions, 
not  words:  at  best,  they  are  only  serviceable  to  a  writer,  so  as  Ennius 
was  to  Virgil.  He  may  aurum  ex  stercore  colHgere:  for  'tis  hard  if, 
amongst  many  insignificant  phrases,  there  happen  not  something  worth 
preserving;  tho'  they  themselves,  like  Indians,  know  not  the  value  of 
their  own  commodity. 

There  is  yet  another  way  of  improving  language,  which  poets 
especially  have  practic'd  in  all  ages;  that  is,  by  applying  receiv'd  words 

40  to  a  new  signification;  and  this,  I  believe,  is  meant  by  Horace,  in  that 
precept  which  is  so  variously  construed  by  expositors: 

Dixeris  egregie,  notum   si  caUida  rertum 
Rcddidcrii  junctura  novum. 

And  in  this  way  he  him-self  had  a  particular  happiness;   using  all  the 

13.     'Tis]  Q1Q3.     It  is  SsMK. 

38.     yet  another  way]  Ql.     another  way  yet  Q3. 


DEFENSE  OF  THE  EPILOGUE  143 

tropes,  and  particularly  metaphors,  with  that  grace  which  is  observable 
in  his  Odes,  where  the  beauty  of  expression  is  often  greater  than  that 
of  thought;  as  in  that  one  example,  amongst  an  infinite  number  of 
others,  Et  vultus  nimium  lubricus  aspici. 

And  therefore,  tho'  he  innovated  little,  he  may  justly  be  call'd  a 
great  refiner  of  the  Roman  tongue.  This  choice  of  words,  and 
height'ning  of  their  natural  signification,  was  observ'd  in  him  by  the 
writers  of  the  following  ages;  for  Petronius  says  of  him,  Et  Horatii 
curiosa  felicitas.     By  this  graffing,  as  I  may  call  it,  on  old  words,  has 

10  our  tongue  been  beautified  by  the  three  fore-mention'd  poets,  Shak- 
spere,  Fletcher,  and  Jonson,  whose  excellencies  I  can  never  enough 
admire;  and  in  this  they  have  been  follow'd  especially  by  Sir  John 
Suckling  and  Mr.  Waller,  who  refin'd  upon  them.  Neither  have  they 
who  now  succeed  them  been  wanting  in  their  endeavors  to  adorn  our 
mother  tongue;  but  it  is  not  so  lawful  for  me  to  praise  my  living 
contemporaries,  as  to  admire  my  dead  predecessors. 

I  should  now  speak  of  the  refinement  of  Wit ;  but  I  have  been  so 
large  on  the  former  subject  that  I  am  forc'd  to  contract  myself  in  this. 
I  will  therefore  only  observe  to  you  that  the  wit  of   the  last  age  was 

20  yet  more  incorrect  than  their  language.  Shakspere,  who  many  times 
has  written  better  than  any  poet  in  any  language,  is  yet  so  far  from 
writing  wit  always,  or  expressing  that  wit  according  to  the  dignity  of 
the  subject,  that  he  writes,  in  many  places,  below — the  dullest  writers  of 
ours,  or  of  any  precedent  age.  Never  did  any  author  precipitate  him- 
self from  such  heights  of  thought  to  so  low  expressions,  as  he  often 
does.  He  is  the  very  Janus  of  poets;  he  wears  almost  everywhere  two 
faces;  and  you  have  scarce  begun  to  admire  tho  one,  ere  you  despise 
the  other.  Neither  is  the  luxuriance  of  Fletcher,  (which  his  friends 
have  tax'd  in  him,)    a   less   fault  than  the   carelessness  of  Shakspere. 

30  He  does  not  well  always;  and,  when  he  does,  he  is  a  true  Englishman 
— he  knows  not  when  to  give  over.  If  he  wakes  in  one  scene,  he  com- 
monly slumbers  in  another;  and,  if  he  pleases  you  in  the  first  three 
acts,  he  is  frequently  so  tir'd  with  his  labor  that  he  goes  heavily  in  the 
fourth,  and  sinks  under  his  burden  in  the  fifth. 

For  Ben  Jonson,  the  most  judicious  of  poets,  he  always  writ  prop- 
erly, and  as  the  character  rcquir"d ;  and  I  will  not  contest  farther  with 
my  friends  who  call  that  wit:  it  being  very  certain  that  even  folly 
itself,  well  represented,  is  wit  in  a  larger  signification ;  and  that  there 
is  fancy  as  well  as  judgment  in  it,  tho'  not  so  much  or  noble:   because, 

40  all  poetry  being  imitation,  that  of  folly  is  a  lower  exercise  of  fancy, 
tho'  perhaps  as  difiicult  as  the  other;  for  'tis  a  kind  of  looking  down- 
ward in  the  poet,  and  representing  that  part  of  mankind  which  is  below 
him. 

In  these  low  characters  of  vice  and  folly  lay  the  excellency  of  that 
inimitable  writer;  who,  when  at  any  time  he  aim'd  at  wit  in  the  stricter 
sense,  that  is,  sharpness  of  conceit,   was  forc'd  either  to   borrow   from 


1.  pmtiriilnrlt/]    QIQ."?.      particular  SsMK. 

14.  ir/io  now  .lucrccd]   Qiy.S.      uho  siiccccdnl  SsMK. 

10.  mil  (U'ltl  prrilrcrs.iiirs]   i}l.     iy.i  omits  dead. 

24.  or  of  dill/]  <}Uy.i.     SsMK  omit  of. 

25.  hciqhi.s  QIQ-S-     hriolit   SsMK. 
4G.  cither]  Ql.     Omitted  in  Q3. 


144  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

the  ancients,  as  to  my  knowledge  he  did  very  much  from  Plautus;  or, 
when  he  trusted  himself  alone,  often  fell  into  meanness  of  expression. 
Nay,  he  was  not  free  from  the  lowest  and  most  groveling  kind  of  wit, 
which  we  call  clenches,  of  which  Every  Man  in  his  Humor  is  infinitely 
full;  and,  which  is  worse,  the  wittiest  persons  in  the  drama  speak 
them.  His  other  comedies  are  not  exempted  from  them.  Will  you  give 
me  leave  to  name  some  few?  Asper,  in  which  character  he  personates 
himself  (and  he  neither  was  nor  thought  himself  a  fool),  exclaiming 
against  the  ignorant  ju<lges  of  the  age,  speaks  thus: 

10  How  monstrous  and  detested  is  't,  to  see 

A  fellow  that  has  neither  art  nor  brain 
Sit  like  an  Aristarchus,  or  stark-ass, 
Taking  men's  lines,  with  a  tobacco  face, 
In  snuff,  &c. 

And  presently  after: 

I  mar'le  whose  wit  'twas  to  put  a  prologue  in  yond  sackbut's  mouth.  They 
might  well  think  he  would  be  out  of  tune,  and  yet  you'd  play  upon  him  too. 

Will  you  have  another  of  the  same  stamp? 

O,  I  cannot  abide  these  limbs  of  satin,  or  rather  Satan. 
20  But  it  may  be  you  will  object  that  this  was  Asper,  Macilente,  or 
Carlo  Buffone:  you  shall,  therefore,  hear  him  speak  in  his  own  person, 
and  that  in  the  two  last  lines,  or  sting  of  an  epigram.  'Tis  inscrib'd 
to  Fine  Grand,  who,  he  says,  was  indebted  to  him  for  many  things 
which  he  reckons  there;  and  concludes  thus: 

Forty  things  more,  dear  Grand,  which  you  know  true. 
For  which,  or  pay  me  quickly,  or  I'll  pay  you. 

This  was  then  the  mode  of  wit,  the  vice  of  the  age,  and  not  Ben 
Jonson's;  for  you  see,  a  little  before  him,  that  admirable  wit.  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  perpetually  playing  with  his  words.     In  his  time,   I  believe,  it 

30  ascended  first  into  the  pulpit,  where  (if  you  will  give  me  leave  to  clench 
too)  it  yet  finds  the  benefit  of  its  clergy;  for  they  are  commonly  the 
first  corrupters  of  eloquence,  and  the  last  reform'd  from  vicious  oratory; 
as  a  famous  Italian  has  observ'd  before  me,  in  his  Treatise  of  the 
Corruption  of  the  Italian  Tongue;  which  he  principally  ascribes  to 
priests  and  preaching  friars. 

But,  to  conclude  with  what  brevity  I  can,  I  will  only  add  this,  in 
the  defense  of  our  present  writers,  that,  if  they  reach  not  some  excel- 
lencies of  Ben  Jonson  (which  no  age,  I  am  confident,  ever  shall),  yet  at 
least  they  are  above  that  meanness  of  thought  which  I  have  tax'd,  and 

40  which  is  frequent  in  him. 

That  the  wit  of  this  age  is  much  more  courtly,  may  easily  be  prov'd 
by  viewing  the  characters  of  gentlemen  which  were  written  in  the  last. 
First,  for  Jonson:  Truewit,  in  The  Silent  Wojnan,  was  his  masterpiece; 
and  Truewit  was  a  scholar-like  kind  of  man,  a  gentleman  with  an  allay 
of  pedantry,  a  man  who  seems  mortified  to  the  world  by  much  reading. 
The  best  of  his  discourse  is  drawn,  not  from  the  knowledge  of  the  town, 
but  books;  and,  in  short,  he  would  be  a  fine  gentleman  in  an  university. 
Shakspere   show'd   the   best   of  his   skill   in   his   Mercutio;    and   he   said 

6.     exempted]  Q1Q3.     exempt  SsMK. 


DEFENSE  OF  THE  EPILOGUE  145 

himself  that  he  was  forcVl  to  kill  him  iu  the  third  act,  to  prevent  being 
kill'd  by  him.  But,  for  my  part,  I  cannot  find  he  was  so  dangerous  a 
person :  I  see  nothing  in  bim  but  what  was  so  exceeding  harmless,  that 
he  might  liave  liv'd  to  the  end  of  the  play,  and  died  in  his  bed,  without 
offense  to  any  man. 

Fletcher's  Don  John  is  our  only  bugbear;  and  yet  I  may  affirm, 
without  suspicion  of  flattery,  that  he  now  speaks  better,  and  that  his 
character  is  maintain'd  with  much  more  vigor  in  the  fourth  and  fifth 
acts    than    it    was    by    Fletcher   in    the    three    former.      I    have    always 

10  acknowledg'd  the  wit  of  our  predecessors,  with  all  the  veneration  which 
becomes  me;  but,  I  am  sure,  their  wit  was  not  that  of  gentlemen;  there 
was  ever  somewhat  that  was  ill-bred  and  clownish  in  it,  and  which 
confess'd  the  conversation  of  the  authors. 

And  this  leads  me  to  the  last  and  greatest  advantage  of  our  writing, 
which  proceeds  from  conversation.  In  the  age  wherein  those  poets  liv'd 
there  was  less  of  gallantry  than  in  ours;  neither  did  they  keep  the  best 
company  of  theirs.  Their  fortune  has  been  much  like  that  of  Epicurus, 
in  the  retirement  of  his  gardens;  to  live  almost  unknown,  and  to  be 
celebrated   after   their  decease.      I   cannot   find   that   any  of   them   were 

20  conversant  in  courts,  except  Ben  Jonson;  and  his  genius  lay  not  so 
much  that  way,  as  to  make  an  improvement  by  it.  Greatness  was  not 
then  so  easy  of  access,  nor  conversation  so  free,  as  now  it  is.  I  cannot, 
therefore,  conceive  it  any  insolence  to  affirm,  that,  by  the  knowledge  and 
pattern  of  their  wit  who  writ  before  us,  and  by  the  advantage  of  our 
own  conversation,  the  discourse  and  raillery  of  our  comedies  excel  what 
has  been  written  by  them.  And  this  will  be  denied  by  none  but  some 
few  old  fellows  who  value  themselves  on  their  acquaintance  with  the 
Blackfriars;  who,  because  they  saw  their  plays,  would  pretend  a  right 
to  judge  ours.     The  memory  of  these  grave  gentlemen  is  their  only  plea 

30  for  being  wits.  They  can  tell  a  story  of  Ben  Jonson,  and  perhaps  have 
had  fancy  enough  to  give  a  supper  in  Apollo,  that  they  might  be 
call'd  his  sons;  and,  because  they  were  drawn  in  to  be  laugh'd  at  in 
those  times,  they  think  themselves  now  sufficiently  intitled  to  laugh  at 
ours.  Learning  I  never  saw  in  any  of  them;  and  wit  no  more  than  they 
could  remember.  In  short,  they  were  unlucky  to  have  been  bred  in  an 
unpolish'd  age,  and  more  unlucky  to  live  to  a  refin'd  one.  They  have 
lasted  beyond  their  own,  and  are  cast  behind  ours;  and,  not  contented 
to  have  known  little  at  the  age  of  twenty,  they  boast  of  their  ignorance 
at  threescore. 

40  Now,  if  any  ask  me  whence  it  is  that  our  conversation  is  so  much 
refin'd,  I  must  freely,  and  without  flattery,  ascribe  it  to  the  court;  and, 
in  it,  particularly  to  the  king,  whose  example  gives  a  law  to  it.  His 
own  misfortunes  and  the  nation's  afforded  him  an  opportunity  which 
is  rarely  allow'd  to  sovereign  princes,  I  mean  of  traveling,  and  being 
conversant  in  the  most  polish'd  courts  of  Europe;  and,  thereby,  of 
cultivating  a  spirit  which  was  form'd  by  nature  to  receive  the  impres- 
sions of  a  gallant  and  generous  education.     At   his  return,  he  found  a 

10.     were]  QIQ."}.     had  been  SsMK. 

;U.      in  Ajjollo]   QIQ:?.     in   the  Apollo  SsMK. 

40.      any]   Ql(j:j.      they  SsMK. 


146  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GEANADA 

nation  lost  as  much  in  barbarism  as  in  rebellion;  and,  as  the  excellency 
of  his  nature  forgave  the  one,  so  the  excellency  of  his  manners  reform'd 
the  other.  The  desire  of  imitating  so  great  a  pattern  first  waken'd  the 
dull  and  heavy  spirits  of  the  English  from  their  natural  reserv'dness ; 
loosen'd  them  from  their  stiff  forms  of  conversation,  and  made  them 
easy  and  pliant  to  each  other  in  discourse.  Thus,  insensibly,  our  way 
of  living  became  more  free;  and  the  fire  of  the  English  wit,  which  was 
before  stifled  under  a  constrain'd,  melancholy  way  of  breeding,  began 
first  to  display  its  force,  by  mixing  the  solidity  of  our  nation  with  the 

10  air  and  gaiety  of  our  neighbors.  This  being  granted  to  be  true,  it 
would  be  a  wonder  if  the  poets,  whose  work  is  imitation,  should  be  the 
only  persons  in  three  kingdoms  who  should  not  receive  advantage  by 
it;  or,  if  they  should  not  more  easily  imitate  the  wit  and  conversation 
of  the  present  age  than  of  the  past. 

Let  us  therefore  admire  the  beauties  and  the  heights  of  Shakspere, 
without  falling  after  him  into  a  carelessness,  and  (as  I  may  call  it)  a 
lethargy  of  thought,  for  whole  scenes  together.  Let  us  imitate,  as  we 
are  able,  the  quickness  and  easiness  of  Fletcher,  without  proposing  him 
as  a  pattern  to  us,  either  in  the  redundancy  of  his  matter,  or  the  incor- 

20  rectness  of  his  language.  Let  us  admire  his  wit  and  sharpness  of  con- 
ceit; but  let  us  at  the  same  time  acknowledge  that  it  was  seldom  so 
fix'd,  and  made  proper  to  his  characters,  as  that  the  same  things  might 
not  be  spoken  by  any  person  in  the  play.  Let  us  applaud  his  scenes  of 
love;  but  let  us  confess  that  he  understood  not  either  greatness  or 
perfect  honor  in  the  parts  of  any  of  his  women.  In  fine,  let  us  allow 
that  he  had  so  much  fancy  as,  when  he  pleas'd,  he  could  write  wit;  but 
that  he  wanted  so  much  judgment  as  seldom  to  have  written  humor,  or 
describ'd  a  pleasant  folly.  Let  us  ascribe  to  Jonson  the  height  and 
accuracy  of  judgment  in  the  ordering  of  his  plots,  his  choice  of  char- 

30  acters,  and  maintaining  what  he  had  chosen  to  the  end:  but  let  us  not 
think  him  a  perfect  pattern  of  imitation,  except  it  be  in  humor;  for 
love,  which  is  the  foundation  of  all  comedies  in  other  languages,  is 
scarcely  mention'd  in  any  of  his  plays;  and  for  humor  itself,  the  poets 
of  this  age  will  be  more  wary  than  to  imitate  the  meanness  of  his 
persons.  Gentlemen  will  now  be  entertain'd  with  the  follies  of  each 
other;  and,  tho '  they  allow  Cob  and  Tib  to  speak  properly,  yet  they 
are  not  much  pleas'd  with  their  tankard,  or  with  their  rags:  and,  surely, 
their  conversation  can  be  no  ""est  to  them  on  the  theater,  when  they 
would  avoid  it  in  the  street. 

40  To  conclude  all,  let  us  render  to  our  predecessors  what  is  their  due, 
without  confining  ourselves  to  a  servile  imitation  of  all  they  writ;  and, 
without  assuming  to  ourselves  the  title  of  better  poets,  let  us  ascribe  to 
the  gallantry  and  civility  of  our  age  the  advantage  which  we  have  above 
them;  and  to  our  knowledge  of  the  customs  and  manners  of  it,  the 
happiness  we  have  to  please  beyond  them. 

3.     vaken'd]  Q1Q3.     awakened  SsMK. 
22      characters]   Q1Q3.     character  SsMK. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

A  COMEDY 

Quicquid  sum  ego,  quamvis 


Infra  Lucili  censum  ingenlumque,  tamen  me 
Cum  magnis  vixissc,  invita  fatcbitur  usque 
Jnvidia,  et  fragili  qucercns  illidcre  dentem, 
Offendel  solido. 

Horace,  Satires,  II.  i.  74-78. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 


MEN 

POLYDAMAs,   Usurper  of  Sicily. 
Leonidas,  the  rightful  Prince,  unMown. 
Argaleon,  favorite  to  Polydamas. 
HErxMOGENES,  foster  father  to  Leonidas. 
EuBULus,  his  friend  and  companion. 
Rhodophil,  captain  of  the  guards. 
Palamede,  a  courtier. 
[Straton,  servant  to  Palamede.] 


WOMEN 

Palmyra,  daughter  to  the   Usurper. 
Amalthea,  sister  to  Argaleon. 
DoRALicE,  wife  to  Rhodophil. 
Melantha,  an  affected  lady. 
Philotis,  woman  to  Melantha. 
Beliza,  woman  to  Doralice. 
Artemis,  a  court  lady. 

SCENE— Sicily. 


[Stuaxon,  etc.]     Not  in  QqF  SsM. 


TO 

THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 

THE 

EARL   OF  ROCHESTER. 

My  Lord, 
I  HUMBLY  dedicate  to  your  Lordship  that  poem  of  which  you  were 
pleas'd  to  appear  an  early  patron,  before  it  was  acted  on  the  stage.  I 
may  yet  go  farther,  with  your  permission,  and  say  that  it  receiv'd 
amendment  from  your  noble  hamls  ere  it  was  fit  to  be" presented.  You 
may  please  likewise  to  remember  with  how  much  favor  to  the  author, 
and  indulgence  to  the  play,  you  ccmniended  it  to  the  view  of  his 
Majesty,  then  at  Windsor,  and,  by  his  approbation  of  it  in  writing, 
made  way   for  its   kind   reception   on   the   theater.      In   this   dedication, 

10  therefore,  I  may  seem  to  imitate  a  custom  of  the  ancients,  who  ofifer'd 
to  their  gods  the  firstlings  of  the  flock,  which  I  think  they  call'd  ver 
sacrum,  because  they  help'd  'em  to  increase.  I  am  sure,  if  there  be 
anything  in  this  play  wherein  I  have  rais'd  myself  beyond  the  ordinary 
lowness  of  my  comedies,  I  ought  wholly  to  acknowledge  it  to  the  favor 
of  being  admitted  into  your  Lordship's  conversation.  And  not  only  I, 
who  pretend  not  to  this  way,  but  the  best  comic  writers  of  our  age  will 
join  with  me  to  acknowledge  that  they  have  copied  the  gallantries  of 
courts,  the  delicacy  of  expression,  and  the  decencies  of  behavior,  from 
your  Lordship,  with  more  success  then  if  they  had   taken   their  models 

20  from  the  court  of  France.  But  this,  my  Lord,  will  be  no  wonder  to  the 
world,  which  knows  the  excellency  of  your  natural  parts,  and  those 
you  have  acquir'd  in  a  noble  education.  That  which  with  more  reason 
I  admire,  is  that,  being  so  absolute  a  courtier,  you  have  not  forgot 
either  the  ties  of  friendship,  or  the  practice  of  generosity.  In  my 
little  experience  of  a  court  (which,  I  confess,  I  desire  not  to  improve), 
I  have  found  in  it  much  of  interest,  and  more  of  detraction.  Few 
men  there  have  that  assurance  of  a  friend,  as  not  to  be  made  ridiculous 
by  him  when  they  are  absent.  There  are  a  middling  sort  of  courtiers, 
who  become  happy  by  their  want  of  wit;  but  they  supply  that  want  by 

30  an  excess  of  malice  to  those  who  have  it.  And  there  is  no  such 
persecution  as  that  of  fools:    they  can  never  be  considerable  enough  to 

19.     then]    Q1.      than  Q2Q.3F.      Similar  variants  occur  later,   but  are  not 
recorded  in  these  notes. 

149 


150  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

be  talk'd  of  themselves;  so  that  they  are  safe  only  in  their  obscurity, 
and  grow  mischievous  to  witty  men  by  the  great  diligence  of  their  envy, 
and  by  being  always  present  to  represent  and  aggravate  their  faults. 
In  the  meantime,  they  are  forc'd,  when  they  endeavor  to  be  pleasant,  to 
live  on  the  otfals  of  their  wit  whom  they  decry;  and  either  to  quote  it 
(which  they  do  unwillingly),  or  to  pass  it  upon  others  for  their 
own.  These  are  the  men  who  make  it  their  business  to  chase  wit  from 
the  knowledge  of  princes,  lest  it  should  disgrace  their  ignorance.  And 
this   kind   of   malice   your    Lordship   has   not   so   much   avoided,   as   sur- 

10  mounted.  But  if  by  the  excellent  temper  of  a  royal  master,  always 
more  ready  to  hear  good  than  ill;  if  by  his  inclination  to  love  you;  if 
by  your  own  merit  and  address;  if  by  the  charms  of  your  conversation, 
the  grace  of  your  behavior,  your  knowledge  of  greatness,  and  habitude 
in  courts,  you  have  been  able  to  preserve  yourself  with  honor  in 
the  midst  of  so  dangerous  a  course;  yet  at  least  the  remembrance  of 
those  hazards  has  inspir'd  you  with  pity  for  other  men,  who,  being  of 
an  inferior  wit  and  quality  to  you,  are  yet  persecuted  for  being  that 
in  little,  which  your  Lordship  is  in  great.  For  the  quarrel  of  those 
people  extenfls  itself  to  anything  of  sense;  and  if  I  may  be  so  vain  to 

20  own  it,  amongst  the  rest  of  the  poets,  has  sometimes  reach'd  to  the 
very  borders  of  it,  even  to  me.  So  that,  if  our  general  good  fortune 
had  not  rais'd  up  your  Lordship  to  defend  us,  I  know  not  whether 
anything  had  been  more  ridiculous  in  court  than  writers.  'Tis  to  your 
Lordship's  favor  we  generally  owe  our  protection  and  patronage;  and 
to  the  nobleness  of  your  nature,  which  will  not  suffer  the  least  shadow 
of  youT  wTt  to  be  contemn'd  in  other  men.  You  have  been  often  pleas'd 
not  only  to  excuse  my  imperfections,  but  to  vindicate  what  was  tolerable 
in  my  writings  from  their  censures;  and,  what  I  never  can  forget,  you 
have  not  only  been  careful  of  my  reputation,  but  of  my  fortune.     You 

30  have  been  solicitous  to  supply  my  neglect  of  myself;  and  to  overcome 
the  fatal  modesty  of  poets,  which  submits  them  to  perpetual  wants, 
rather  then  to  become  importunate  with  those  people  who  have  the 
liberality  of  kings  in  their  disposing,  and  who,  dishonoring  the  bounty 
of  their  master,  suffer  such  to  be  in  necessity,  who  endeavor  at  least 
to  please  him;  and  for  whose  entertainment  he  has  generously  pro- 
vided, if  the  fruits  of  his  royal  favor  were  not  often  stopp'd  in  other 
hands.  But  your  Lordship  has  given  me  occasion  not  to  complain  of 
courts  whilst  you  are  there.  I  have  fooind  the  effects  of  your  mediation 
in  all  my  concernments;  and  they  were  so  much  the  more  noble  in  you, 

40  because  they  were  wholly  voluntary.  I  became  your  Lordship's  (if  I 
may  venture  on  the  similitude)  as  the  world  was  made,  without  knowing 
him  who  made  it;  and  brought  only  a  passive  obedience  to  be  your 
creature.  This  nobleness  of  yours  1  think  myself  the  rather  oblig'd  to 
own,  because  otherwise  it  must  have  been  lost  to  all  remembrance;  for 
you  are  endued  with  that  excellent  quality  of  a  frank  nature,  to  forget 
the  good  which  you  have  done. 

But,  my  Lord,  I  ought  to  have  consider'd  that  you  are  as  great  a 

14.     Tiare]   F.     having  Qq,  probalily  by  a  misprint. 
28.     never  can]   Qq.     can  never  F. 


DEDICATION  151 

judge  as  you  are  a  patron;  and  that,  in  praising  you  ill,  I  shall  incur 
a  higher  note  of  ingratitude  then  that  I  thought  to  have  avoided.  I 
stand  in  need  of  all  your  accustom'd  goodness  for  the  dedication  of 
this  play;  which,  tho'  perhaps  it  be  the  best  of  my  comedies,  is  yet  so 
faulty  that  I  should  have  fear'd  you  for  my  critic,  if  I  had  not,  with 
some  policy,  given  you  the  trouble  of  being  my  protector.  Wit  seems 
to  have  lodg'd  itself  more  nobly  in  this  age  than  in  any  of  the  former; 
and  people  of  my  mean  condition  are  only  writers  because  some  of  the 
nobility,  and   your   Lordship   in   the   first   place,    are   above   the   narrow 

10  praises  which  poesy  could  give  you.  But  let  those  who  love  to  see  them- 
selves exceeded  encourage  your  Lordship  in  so  dangerous  a  quality; 
for  my  own  part,  I  must  confess  that  I  have  so  much  of  self-interest 
as  to  be  content  with  reading  some  papers  of  your  verses,  without 
desiring  you  should  proceed  to  a  scene  or  play;  w4th  the  common 
prudence  of  those  who  are  worsted  in  a  duel,  and  declare  they  are 
satisfied,  when  they  are  first  wounded.  Your  Lordship  has  but  another 
step  to  make,  and.  from  the  patron  of  wit,  you  may  become  its  tyrant ; 
and  oppress  our  little  reputations  with  more  ease  then  you  now  protect 
them.     But   these,   my  Lord,   are   designs  which   T  am   sure  you  harbor 

20  not,  any  more  then  the  French  king  is  contriving  the  conquest  of  the 
Swissers.  'Tis  a  barren  triumph,  which  is  not  worth  your  pains;  and 
would  only  rank  him  amongst  your  slaves,  who  is  already, 

My  Lord, 

Your  Lordship's 

Most  obedient  and  most 

Faithful  servant, 

John  Dryden. 

1.     shall]   QqF.     should  SsM. 


} 


PROLOGUE 

Lord,  how  reform'd  and  quiet  we  are  grown, 
Since  all  our  braves  and  all  our  wits  are  gone! 
Fop  corner  now  is  free  from  civil  war; 
White  wig  and  vizard  make  no  longer  jar. 
France,  and  the  fleet,  have  swept  the  town  so  clear 
That  we  can  act  in  peace,  and  you  can  hear. 
[Those  that  durst  tight  are  gone  to  get  renown. 
And  those  that  durst  not,  blush  to  stand  in  town.] 
'Twas  a  sad  sight,  before  they  march'd  from  home, 

10  To  see  our  warriors  in  red  waistcoats  come, 

With  hair  tuck'd  up,  into  our  tiring-room. 
But  'twas  more  sad  to  hear  their  last  adieu: 
The  women  sobb'd,  and  swore  they  would  be  true; 
And  so  they  were,  as  long  as  e'er  they  could,  "| 

But  powerful  guinea  cannot  be  withstood,  ?• 

And  they  were  made  of  playhouse  flesh  and  blood.   J 
Fate  did  their  friends  for  double  use  ordain;   ^ 
In  wars  abroad  they  grinning  honor  gain,  >■ 

And  mistresses  for  all  that  stay  maintain.         J 

20  Now  they  are  gone,  'tis  dead  vacation  here, 

For  neither  friends  nor  enemies  appear. 
Poor  pensive  punk  now  peeps  ere  plays  begin, 
Sees  the  bare  bench,  and  dares  not  venture  in; 
But  manages  her  last  half-crown  with  care, 
And  trudges  to  the  Mall,  on  foot,  for  air. 
Our  city  friends  so  far  will  hardly  come; 
They  can  take  up  with  pleasures  nearer  home, 
And  see  gay  shows  and  gaudy  scenes  elsewhere; 
For  we  presume  they  seldom  come  to  hear. 

Prologue.  In  the  Covent  Garden  Drollery,  a  small  miscellany  printed  in 
1672.  are  found  versions  of  the  prologue  and  epilogue  to  Marriage  a  la  Mode 
that  differ  considerably  from  those  included  in  the  early  editions  of  the  play. 
These  versions  were  probably  published  without  Dryden's  sanction,  and  may 
have  been  obtained  from  the  actors'  recitation  in  the  theater.  Variants 
taken  from  them  are  marked  Cgd. 

1.      ue  are]  Qq.     are  ice  F  Cgd  SsM. 

4.  White  wig     .     .     .     make]   QqF.     White  Wig  and  Vi::zard-Masks  Cgd. 

5.  hare]  QqF.     hath  Cgd. 

7,8.  Those      .      .      .      toivn]      Found  only   in  Cgd. 

9.  march'd]  QqF.     nent  Cgd. 

18.  they]  QqF.     the  Cgd. 

23.  venture]  QqF.     renter  Cgd. 

24.  last]  QqF.     Omitted  in  Cgd. 
26.  come]  QqF.     roam  Cgd. 

28.  and  gaudy]  QqF.     uith  gaudy  Cgd. 

29.  For  we  presume]  QqF.     For  'tis  prcstim'd  Cgd. 

152 


PROLOGUE.  153 

30  But  they  have  now  ta'en  up  a  glorious  trade, 

And  cutting  Morecraft  struts  in  masquerade. 
There's  all  our  hope,  for  \vc  shall  show  to-day 
A  masking  ball,  to  recommend  our  play; 
Nay,  to  endear  'em  more,  and  let  'em  see 
We  scorn  to  come  behind  in  courtesy, 
Well  follow  the  new  mode  which  they  begin. 
And  treat  'em  with  a  room,  and  couch  within: 
For  that's  one  way,  howe'er  the  play  fall  short, 
T'  oblige  the  town,  the  city,  and  the  court. 

31.  cutting     .     .     .     struts'\  QqF.    cunning     .     .     .     strut  Csd. 

32.  There's     .     .     .     to-day]  QqP.     Here's     .     .     .     to  do  Cgd. 

34.  endear  'em    .    .    .    let  'em]  QqF.     indear  them,    ,    .    ,    let  them  Cgd. 

37.  treat  'cm]  QqF.     treat  them  Cgd. 

38.  fall]  QqF.     falls  Cgd. 

39.  T'  oblige]  QqF.     To  oblige  Cgd  SsM. 


Marriage  d  la  Mode  was  first  printed  in  1673;  other  quarto  editions 
followed  in  1691  and  1698.  These  quartos  are  cited  as  Ql,  Q'2,  Q3.  Q3 
was  printed  from  Q2  (see  notes  on  p.  160,  1.  218;  p.  173,  1.  353),  and  the 
Folio  ot  1701  (F)  from  Ql  (see  notes  on  p.  167,  1.  68;  p.  190,  11.  120, 
125).     Ql  furnishes  the  only  authentic  text. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 
ACT  I 

Walks  near  the  Court. 

Enter  Doralice  and  Beliza. 

Dor.  Beliza,  bring  the  lute  into  this  arbor;  the  -nalks  are  empty: 
I  would  try  the  song  the  Princess  Amalthea  bade  me  learn. 

[They  go  in,  and  sing. 

I. 

Why  should  a  foolish  marriage  vow, 

Which  long  ago  was  made, 
Oblige  us  to  each  other  noiv, 

}Vhe7i  passion  is  dccay'd? 
We  lov'd,  and  we  lov'd,  as  long  as  we  could, 

Till  our  love  was  lov'd  out  in  us  both; 
But  our  marriage  is  dead,  when  the  pleasure  is  fled: 
Xo  'Twas  pleasure  first  made  it  an  oath. 

n. 

If  I  have  pleasures  for  a  friend. 

And  farther  love  in  store. 
What  icrong  has  he  whose  joys  did  end, 

And  tvho  could  give  no  more? 
'Tis  a  madness  that  he  should  he  jealous  of  me, 

Or  that  1  should  bar  him  of  another: 
For  all  we  can  gain,  is  to  give  ourselves  pain. 

When  neither  can  hinder  the  other. 

Enter  Palamede,    f?i    riding    habit,    and    hears    the    Song.      Eeent&r 

Doralice  and  Beliza. 

Bel.     Madam,  a  stranger. 
20        Dor.     I  did  not  think  to  have  had  Mitnesses  of  my  bad  singing. 

Pala.  If  I  have  err'd,  madam,  I  hope  you'll  pardon  the  curiosity  of 
a  stranger;  for  I  may  well  call  myself  so,  after  five  years'  absence  from 
the  court.     But  you  have  freed  me  from  one  error. 

Dor.     What's  that,  I  beseech  you? 

Fala.  I  thought  good  voices  and  ill  faces  had  been  inseparable; 
and  that  to  be  fair,  and  sing  well,  had  been  only  the  privilege  of 
angels. 

155 


156  MAEEIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Dor.     And  how  many  more  of  these  fine  things  can  you  say  to  me? 

Pala.     Very  few,  madam;   for  if  I  should  continue  to  see  you  some 
30  hours  longer,  you  look  so  killingly  that  I  should  be  mute  with  wonder. 

Dor.  This  will  not  give  you  the  reputation  of  a  wit  with  me.  You 
traveling  monsieurs  live  upon  the  stock  you  have  got  abroad,  for  the 
first  day  or  two :  to  repeat  with  a  good  memory,  and  apply  with  a  good 
grace,  is  all  your  wit;  and,  commonly,  your  gullets  are  sew'd  up,  like 
cormorants.  When  you  have  regorg'd  what  you  have  taken  in,  you  are 
the  leanest  things  in  nature. 

Pala.  Then,  madam,  I  think  you  had  best  make  that  use  of  me;  let 
me  wait  on  you  for  two  or  three  days  together,  and  you  shall  hear  all 
I  have  learnt  of  extraordinary  in  other  countries;  and  one  thing  which 
40  I  never  saw  till  I  came  home,  that  is,  a  lady  of  a  better  voice,  better 
face,  and  better  wit,  than  any  I  have  seen  abroad.  And,  after  this,  if 
I  should  not  declare  myself  most  passionately  in  love  with  you,  I  should 
have  less  wit  than  yet  you  think  I  have. 

Dor.  A  very  plain  and  pithy  declaration.  I  see,  sir,  you  have  been 
traveling  in  Spain  or  Italy,  or  some  of  the  hot  countries,  where  men 
come  to  the  point  immediately.  But  are  you  sure  these  are  not  words 
of  course?  For  I  would  not  give  my  poor  heart  an  occasion  of  com- 
plaint against  me,  that  I  engag'd  it  too  rashly,  and  then  could  not  bring 
it  off. 
50  Pala.  Your  heart  may  trust  itself  with  me  safely;  I  shall  use  it 
very  civilly  while  it  stays,  and  never  turn  it  away  without  fair  warning 
to  provide  for  itself. 

Dor.  First,  then,  I  do  receive  your  passion  with  as  little  considera- 
tion, on  my  part,  as  ever  you  gave  it  me,  on  yours.  And  now  see  what 
a  miserable  wretch  you  have  made  yourself ! 

Pala.  Who,  I  miserable?  Thank  you  for  that.  Give  me  love 
enough,  and  life  enough,  and  I  defy  Fortune. 

Dor.     Know  then,  thou  man  of  vain  imagination,  know,  to  thy  utter 
confusion,  that  I  am  virtuous. 
60         Pala.     Such  another  word,  and  I  give  up  the  ghost. 

Dor.     Then,  to  strike  you  quite  dead,  know  that  I  am  married  too. 

Pala.     Art  thou  married?     O  thou  damnable  virtuous  woman! 

Dor.  Yes,  married  to  a  gentleman;  young,  handsome,  rich,  valiant, 
and  with  all  the  good  qualities  that  will  make  you  despair  and  hang 
yourself. 

Pala.     Well,  in  spite  of  all  that,  I'll  love  you.     Fortune  has  cut  us 

out  for  one  another;   for  I  am  to  be  married  within  these  three  days; 

married,  past  redemption,  to  a  young,  fair,  rich,  and  virtuous  lady;  and 

it  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  love  my  wife  as  little,  as  I  perceive  you  do 

70  your  husband. 

Dor.  Eemember,  I  invade  no  propriety:  my  servant  you  are  only 
till  you  are  married. 

Pala.     In  the  meantime,  you  are  to  forget  you  have  a  husband. 

Dor.     And  you,  that  you  are  to  have  a  wife. 

Bel.  [Aside,  to  her  Lady.]  O  madam,  my  lord's  just  at  the  end  of 
the  walks:  and,  if  you  make  not  haste,  will  discover  you. 

Por.     Some  other  time,  new  servant,  we'll  talk  further  of  the  prem- 


ACT  I  157 

ises;  in  the  meanwhile,  break  not  my  first  commandment,  that  is,  not  to 
follow  me. 
80         Fala.     But  where,  then,  shall  I  find  you  again? 

Dor.     At  court.     Yours  for  two  days,  sir. 

Pala.     And  nights,  I  beseech  you,  madam. 

[Exit  DoRALiCE  and  Beliza. 

Pala.  Well,  I'll  say  that  for  thee,  thou  art  a  very  dext'rous  execu- 
tioner; thou  hast  done  my  business  at  one  stroke.  Yet  I  must  marry 
another — and  yet  I  must  love  this;  and  if  it  lead  me  into  some  littlo 
inconveniences,  as  jealousies,  and  duels,  and  death,  and  so  forth — yet, 
while  sweet  love  is  in  the  case,  Fortune,  do  thy  worst,  and  avaunt, 
mortality! 

Enter  Ehodophil,  who  seems  spealing  to  one  %cithin. 

Eho.  Leave  'em  with  my  lieutenant,  while  I  fetch  new  orders  from 
90  the  king.     How?     Palamede!  [Sees  Palamede. 

Fala.     Ehodophil! 

Eho.     Who  tliought  to  have  seen  you  in  Sicily? 

Pala.     Who  thought  to  have  found  the  court  so  far  from  Syracuse? 

Eho.  The  king  best  knows  the  reason  of  the  progress.  But,  answer 
me,  I  beseech  you,  what  brought  you  home  from  travel  ? 

Pala.     The  commands  of  an  old  rich  father. 

Eho.     And  the  hopes  of  burying  him? 

Pala.     Both  together,  as  you  see,  have  prevailed  on  my  good-nature. 

In  few  words,  my  old  man  has  already  married  me;   for  he  has  agreed 

100  with  another  old  man,  as  rich  and  as  covetous  as  himself;   the  articles 

are  drawn,  and  I  have  given  my  consent,  for  fear  of  being  disinherited; 

and  yet  know  not  what  kind  of  woman  I  am  to  marry. 

Eho.  Sure  your  father  intends  you  some  very  ugly  wife,  and  has  a 
mind  to  keep  you  in  ignorance  till  you  have  shot  the  gulf. 

Pala.     I  know  not  that;  but  obey  I  will,  and  must. 

Eho.  Then  I  cannot  choose  but  grieve  for  all  the  good  girls  and 
courtesans  of  France  and  Italy.  They  have  lost  the  most  kind-hearted, 
doting,  prodigal  humble  servant,  in  Europe. 

Pala.  All  I  could  do,  in  these  three  years  I  stay'd  behind  you,  was 
110  to  comfort  the  poor  creatures  for  the  loss  of  you.  But  what's  the 
reason  that,  in  all  this  time,  a  friend  could  never  hear  from  you? 

Eho.  Alas,  dear  Palamede,  I  have  had  no  joy  to  write,  nor  indeed 
to  do  anything  in  the  world  to  please  me.  The  greatest  misfortune 
imaginable  is  fall'n  upon  me. 

Pala.     Pr'ythee,  what's  the  matter? 

Eho.  In  one  word,  I  am  married:  wretchedly  married;  and  have 
been,  above  these  two  years.  Yes,  faith,  the  devil  has  bad  power  over 
me,  in  spite  of  my  vows  and  resolutions  to  the  contrarj'. 

Pala.  I  find  you  have  sold  yourself  for  filthy  lucre;  she's  old,  or  ill 
120  condition'd. 

Eho.  No;  none  of  these:  I'm  sure  she's  young;  and,  for  her  humor, 
she  laughs,  sings,  and  dances  eternally;  and,  which  is  more,  we  never 
quarrel  about  it,  for  I  do  the  same. 


158  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Fala.  You're  very  unfortunate  indeed.  Then  the  case  is  plain,  she 
is  not  handsome. 

Eho.     A  great  beauty  too,  as  people  say. 

Pala.     As   people   say?     Why,  you   should  know   that   best   yourself. 

Eho.     Ask    those    who    have   smelt    to    a   strong    perfume   two    years 
together,  what's  the  scent. 
130        Pala.     But  here  are  good  qualities  enough  for  one  woman. 

Eho.  Aye,  too  many,  Palamede.  If  I  could  put  'em  into  three  or 
four  women,  I  should  be  content. 

Pala.  O,  now  I  have  found  it!  You  dislike  her  for  no  other  reason 
but  because  she's  your  wife. 

Eho.  And  is  not  that  enough?  All  that  I  know  of  her  perfections 
now,  is  only  by  memory.  I  remember,  indeed,  that  about  two  years  ago 
I  lov'd  her  passionately;  but  those  golden  days  are  gone,  Palamede. 
Yet  I  lov'd  her  a  whole  half  year,  double  the  natural  term  of  any  mis- 
tress; and  think,  in  my  conscience,  I  could  have  held  out  another 
140  quarter,  but  then  the  world  began  to  laugh  at  me,  and  a  certain  shame 
of  being  out  of  fashion  seiz'd  me.  At  last,  we  arriv'd  at  that  point, 
that  there  was  nothing  left  in  us  to  make  us  new  to  one  another.  Yet 
still  I  set  a  good  face  upon  the  matter,  and  am  infinite  fond  of  her 
before  company;  but  when  we  are  alone,  we  walk  like  lions  in  a  room; 
she  one  way,  and  I  another.  And  we  lie  with  our  backs  to  each  other, 
so  far  distant  as  if  the  fashion  of  great  beds  was  only  invented  to  keep 
husband  and  wife  sufficiently  asunder. 

Pala.  The  truth  is,  your  disease  is  very  desperate;  but,  tho'  you 
cannot  be  cur'd,  you  may  be  patch'd  up  a  little:  you  must  get  you  a 
150  mistress,  Rhodophil.  That,  indeed,  is  living  upon  cordials;  but,  as  fast 
as  one  fails,  you  must  supply  it  with  another.  You're  like  a  gamester 
who  has  lost  his  estate;  yet,  in  doing  that,  you  have  learn'd  the  advan- 
tages of  play,  and  can  arrive  to  live  upon  't. 

Eho.  Truth  is,  I  have  been  thinking  on  't,  and  have  just  resolv'd 
to  take  your  counsel;  and,  faith,  considering  the  damn'd  disadvantages 
of  a  married  man,  I  have  provided  well  enough  for  a  poor  humble 
sinner  that  is  not  ambitious  of  great  matters. 

Pala.     What  is  she  for  a  woman? 

Eho.     One  of  the  stars  of  Syracuse,  I  assure  you:    young  enough, 
160  fair  enough;   and,  but   for  one  quality,  just  such  a  woman  as  I  would 
wish. 

Pala.  O  friend,  this  is  not  an  age  to  be  critical  in  beauty.  When 
we  had  good  store  of  handsome  women,  and  but  few  chapmen,  you 
might  have  been  more  curious  in  your  choice;  but  now  the  price  is 
cnhanc'd  upon  us,  and  all  mankind  set  up  for  mistresses,  so  that  poor 
little  creatures,  without  beauty,  birth,  or  breeding,  but  only  impudence, 
go  off  at  unreasonable  rates.  And  a  man,  in  these  hard  times,  snaps  at 
'em,  as  he  does  at  broad-gold;  never  examines  the  weight,  but  takes 
light  or  heavy,  as  he  can  get  it. 

127.  that  hest]  Qq.     iest  that  F. 

139.  and  think]  QqF.     and  I  think  SsM. 

141.  that  point  Q1Q2F.     the  point  QS. 

160.  would]  QqF.    could  SsM. 


ACT  I  159 

170  Bho.  But  my  mistress  has  one  fault,  that's  almost  unpardonable; 
for,  being  a  town-lady,  without  any  relation  to  the  court,  yet  slie  thinks 
herself  undone  if  she  be  not  seen  there  three  or  four  times  a  day,  with 
the  Princess  Amalthea.  And,  for  the  king,  she  haunts  and  watches  him 
so  narrowly  in  a  morning  that  she  prevents  even  the  chymists,  who  beset 
his  chamber,  to  turn  their  mercury  into  his  gold. 

Pala,     Yet,  hitherto,  methinks,  you  are  no  very  unhappy  man. 

Blio.     With  all  this,  she's  the  greatest  gossip  in  nature;  for,  besides 

the  court,  she's  the  most  eternal  visitor  of  the  town;   and  yet  manages 

her  time  so  well  that  she  seems  ubiquitary.    For  my  part,  I  can  compare 

180  her  to  nothing  but  the  sun ;   for,  like  him,  she  takes  no  rest,  nor  ever 

sets  in  one  place,  but  to  rise  in  another. 

Pala.     I  confess,  she  had  need  be  handsome,  with  these  qualities. 

Eho.  No  lady  can  be  so  curious  of  a  new  fashion,  as  she  is  of  a 
new  French  word:  she's  the  very  mint  of  the  nation;  and,  as  fast  as 
any  bullion  comes  out  of  France,  coins  it  immediately  into  our  language. 

Fala.     And  her  name  is 

Hho.     No  naming;  that's  not  like  a  cavalier.     Find  her,  if  you  can, 
by  my  description ;  and  I  am  not  so  ill  a  painter  that  I  need  write  the 
name  beneath  the  picture. 
190        Pala.     Well,  then,  how  far  have  you  proceeded  in  your  love? 

Mho.  'Tis  yet  in  the  bud,  and  what  fruit  it  may  bear  I  cannot  tell; 
for  this  insufferable  humor,  of  haunting  the  court,  is  so  predominant 
that  she  has  hitherto  broken  all  her  assignations  with  me,  for  fear  of 
missing  her  visits  there. 

Pala.  That's  the  hardest  part  of  your  adventure.  But,  for  aught 
I  see,  fortune  has  us'd  us  both  alike:  I  have  a  strange  kind  of  mistress 
too  in  court,  besides  her  I  am  to  marry. 

liho.     You  have  made  haste  to  be  in  love,   then;    for,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  you  are  but  this  day  arriv'd. 
200        Pala.     That's  all  one:  I  have  seen  the  lady  already  who  has  charm'd 
me;  seen  her  in  these  walks,  courted  her,  and  receiv'd,  for  the  first  time, 
an  answer  that  does  not  put  me  into  despair. 

To  them  Argaleon,  Amalthea,  Artemis. 

I'll  tell  you  at  more  leisure  my  adventures.  The  walks  fill  apace,  I 
see.     Stay,  is  not  that  the  young  lord  Argaleon,  the  king's  favorite? 

Bho.     Yes,  and  as  proud  as  ever,  as  ambitious,  and  as  revengeful. 

Pala.     How  keeps  he  the  king's  favor  with  these  qualities? 

Eho.  Argalcon's  father  help'd  him  to  the  crown:  besides,  he  gilds 
over  all  his  vices  to  the  king;  and,  standing  in  the  dark  to  him,  sees  all 
his  inclinations,  interests,  and  humors,  which  he  so  times  and  soothes, 
210  that,  in  effect,  he  reigns. 

Pala.  Hia  sister  Amalthea,  who,  I  guess,  stands  by  him,  seems  not 
to  be  of  his  temper. 


170.     mistress]    QqF   here,    as   often,    print    mintris;     mistress,   bowcvcr, 
also  occurs. 

17J.      tltcrv]  Q(].     Omitted  in  F. 

ISO.      her  to  nothi)ujl   g(|.     1o  her  nothinsj  F. 

205.     and  as  proud]  Q1Q2F.    QS  omits  and. 


160  MAERIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Eho.     O,  she's  all  goodness  and  generosity. 

Arga.     Ehodophil,  the  king  expects  you  earnestly. 

Sho.     'Tis  done,  my  lord,  what  he  commanded:      I  only  waited  his 
return  from  hunting.     Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  to  him? 

Arga.     No;   I  go  first  another  way.  [Exit  hastily, 

Pala.     He  seems  in  haste,  and  discompos'd. 

Amah     [To  Eho.   after  a  short  whisper.]     Your  friend?     Then  he 
220  must  needs  be  of  much  merit. 

liho.     When   he   has   kiss'd   the   king's   hand,   I   know   he'll   beg   the 
honor  to  kiss  yours.     Come,  Palamede. 

[Exeunt  Eho.  and  Pala.,  bowing  to  Amal. 

Arte.     Madam,  you  tell  me  most  surprising  news. 

Amal.     The  fear  of  it,  you  see. 
Has  discompos'd  my  brother;  but,  to  me. 
All  that  can  bring  my  country  good  is  welcome. 

Arte.     It  seems  incredible,  that  this  old  king, 
Whom  all  the  world  thought  childless, 
Should  come  to  search  the  farthest  parts  of  Sicily, 
230  In  hope  to  find  an  heir. 

Amal.     To  lessen  your  astonishment,  I  will 
Unfold  some  private  passages  of  state 
Of  which  you  yet  are  ignorant.     Know,  first, 
That  this  Polydamas,  who  reigns,  unjustly 
Gain'd  the  crown. 

Arte.     Somewhat  of  this  I  have  confus'dly  heard. 

Alam.     I'll  tell  you  all  in  brief:    Theagenes, 
Our  last  great  king, 

Had,  by  his  queen,  one  only  son,  an  infant 
240  Of  three  years  old,  call'd,  after  him,  Theagenes. 
The  general,  this  Polydamas,  then  married; 
The  public  feasts  for  which  were  scarcely  past, 
When  a  rebellion  in  the  heart  of  Sicily 
Call'd  out  the  king  to  arms. 

Arte.  Polydamas 

Had  then  a  just  excuse  to  stay  behind. 

Amal.     His  temper  was  too  warlike  to  accept  it. 
He  left  his  bride,  and  the  new  joys  of  marriage, 
And  follow'd  to   the   field.     In  short,  they  fought, 
The  rebels  were  o'ercome;  but  in  the  fight 
250  The  too  bold  king  receiv'd  a  mortal  wound. 
When  he  perceiv'd  his  end  approaching  near. 
He  call'd  the  general,  to  whose  care  he  left 
His  widow  queen,  and  orphan  son;   then  died. 

Arte.     Then  false  Polydamas  betray'd  his  trust? 

Amal.     He  did;   and  with  my  father's  help,  for  which 
Heav'n  pardon  him,  so  gain'd  the  soldiers'  hearts 
That  in  few  days  he  was  saluted  king: 
And,  when  his  crimes  had  impudence  enough 

/       218      Pala.    He  seems    .    .    .    discompos'd.]  QIF.     Omitted  in  Q2Q3. 
'       233!     yet  are]  QqF.    are  yet  SsM. 


ACT  I  161 

To  bear  the  eye  of  day, 
260  He  march'd  his  army  back  to  Syracuse. 
But  see  how  heav'n  can  punish  wicked  men, 
In  granting  their  desires.     The  news  was  brought  him, 
That  day  he  was  to  enter  it,  that  Eubulus, 
Whom  his  dead  master  had  left  governor, 
Was  fled,  and  with  him  bore  away  the  queen, 
And  royal  orphan;  but,  what  more  amaz'd  him, 
His  wife,  now  big  with  child,  and  much  detesting 
Her  husband's  practices,  had  willingly 
Accompanied  their  flight. 
270        Arte.     How  1  admire  her  virtue! 

Amal.  What  became 

Of  her,  and  them,  since  that,  was  never  known; 
Only,  some  few  days  since,  a  famous  robber 
Was  taken  with  some  jewels  of  vast  price, 
W'hich,  when  they  were  deliver'd  to  the  king. 
He  knew  had  been  his  wife's ;  with  these,  a  letter, 
Much  torn  and  sullied,  but  which  yet  he  knew 
To  be  her  writing. 

Arte.  Sure,  from  hence  he  learn'd 

He  had  a  son? 

Amal.  It  was  not  left  so  plain: 

The  paper  only  said,  she  died  in  childbed; 
280  But  when  it  should  have  mention'd  son  or  daughter, 
Just  there  it  was  torn  off. 

Arte.  Madam,  the  king. 

To  them  Polydamas,  Argaleon,  Guard,  and  Attendants. 

Arga.     The  robber,  tho'  thrice  rack'd,  confess'd  no  more. 
But  that  he  took  those  jewels  near  this  place. 

Poly.     But  yet  the  circumstances  strongly  argue 
That  those  for  whom  I  search  are  not  far  off. 

Arga.     I  cannot  easily  believe  it. 

Arte.  No, 

You  would  not  have  it  so.  [Aside. 

Poly.     Those  I  employ'd  have,  in  the  neighboring  hamlet, 
Amongst  the  fishers'  cabins,  made  discovery 
290  Of  some  young  persons,  whose  uncommon  beauty, 
And  graceful  carriage,  make  it  seem  suspicious 
Thoy  are  not  what  they  seem :    I  therefore  sent 
The  captain  of  my  guards,  this  morning  early, 
With  orders  to  secure  and  bring  'em  to  me. 

Enter  Rhodophil  and  Palamede. 
O,  here  he  is.     Have  you  perform'd  my  will? 

Elio.     Sir,  those  whom  you  commanded  me  to  bring 
Are  waiting  in  the  walks. 

Poly.  Conduct  'em  hither. 

291.     HiaAre]  QIF.     makes  Q2Q3. 


162  MAEEIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Mho.     First,  give  me  leave 
To  beg  your  notice  of  this  gentleman. 
300        Poly.     He  seems  to  merit  it.     His  name  and  quality? 

Eho.     Palamede,  son  to  lord  Cleodemus  of  Palermo, 
And  new  return'd  from  travel. 

[Palamede  approaches,  and  Tcneels  to  hiss  the  King's  hand. 

Poly.  You  are  welcome. 

I  knew  your  father  well,  he  was  both  brave 
And  honest;  we  two  once  were  fellow-soldiers 
In  the  last  civil  wars. 

Fala.     I  bring  the  same  unquestion'd  honesty 
And  zeal  to  serve  your  Majesty ;  the  courage 
You  were  pleas'd  to  praise  in  him, 
Your  royal  prudence,  and  your  people's  love, 
310  Will  never  give  me  leave  to  try,  like  him, 
In  civil  wars;  I  hope  it  may  in  foreign. 

Poly.     Attend  the  court,  and  it  shall  be  my  care 
To  find  out  some  employment  worthy  you. 

Go,  Rhodophil,  and  bring  in  those  without.         {Exeunt  Eho.  and  Pala. 
Ehodophil  returns  again  immediately,  and  with  him  enter  Hermogenes, 

Leonidas,  and  Palmyra. 
Behold  two  miracles!  [Loolcing  earnestly  on  Leon,  and  Palmyra. 

Of  different  sexes,  but  of  equal  form: 
So  matchless  both  that  my  divided  soul 
Can  scarcely  ask  the  gods  a  son  or  daughter. 
For  fear  of  losing  one.     If  from  your  hands, 
320  You  powers,  I  shall  this  day  receive  a  daughter, 
Argaleon,  she  is  yours;  but  if  a  son. 
Then  Amalthea's  love  shall  make  him  happy. 

Arga.     Grant,  heav'n,  this  admirable  nymph  may  prove 
That  issue  which  he  seeks! 

Amal.     Venus  Urania,  if  thou  art  a  goddess, 
Grant  that  sweet  youth  may  prove  the  prince  of  Sicily! 

Poly.     Tell  me,  old  man,  and  tell  me  true,  from  whence       FTo  Her. 
Had  you  that  youth  and  maid? 

Her.  From  whence  you  had 

Your  scepter,  sir:    I  had  'em  from  the  gods. 
330        Poly.     The  gods  then  have  not  such  another  gift. 
Say  who  their  parents  were. 

Her.  My  wife,  and  I. 

Arga.     It  is  not  likely, 
A  virgin  of  so  excellent  a  beauty 
Should  come  from  such  a  stock. 

Amal.     Much  less,  that  such  a  youth,  so  sweet,  so  graceful, 
Should  be  produc'd  from  peasants. 

Her.     Why,  nature  is  the  same  in  villages. 
And  much  more  fit  to  form  a  noble  issue, 

301.  to  lord]  QIF.     to  the  lord  Q2Q3. 

302.  You^rc]   SsM.     You're  QqF,  causing  defoctivf  meter. 
332,  333.     It  is    .    .    .    beauty}     One  line  in  QqF  SsM. 


ACT  I  163 

Where  it  is  least  corrupted. 
340        I'oly.     He  talks  too  like  a  man  that  knew  the  world, 
To  have  been  long  a  peasant.     But  the  rack 
Will  teach  him  other  language.     Hence  with  him! 

[As  the  Guards  arc  carrying  him  away,  his  peruke  falls  off. 
Sure  I  have  seen  that  face  before.     Hermogenes! 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he,  who  fled  away  with  Eubulus, 
And  with  my  dear  Eudoxia? 

Her.  Yes,  sir,  1  am  Hermogenes! 
And  if  to  have  been  loyal  be  a  crime, 
I  stand  prepar'd  to  suffer. 

Poly.     If  thou  wouldst  live,  speak  quickly, 
350  What  is  become  of  my  Eudoxia? 

Where  is  the  queen  and  young  Theagenes? 
Where  Eubulus?    and  which  of  these  is  mine? 

[Pointing  to  Leon,  and  Palm. 

Her.     Eudoxia  is  dead,  so  is  the  queen; 
The  infant  king,  her  son,  and  Eubulus. 

Poly.     Traitor,  'tis  false.     Produce  'em,  or 

^^^'■-  Once  more 

I  tell  you,  they  are  dead;  but  leave  to  threaten, 
For  you  shall  know  no  further. 

Poly.     Then  prove  indulgent  to  my  hopes,  and  be 
My  friend  for  ever.     Tell  me,  good  Hermogenes, 
360  Whose  son  is  that  brave  youth? 

Her.  Sir,  he  is  yours. 

Poly.     Fool  that  I  am!  thou  see'st  that  so  I  wish  it, 
And  so  thou  fiatter'st  me. 

Her.  By  all  that's  holy! 

Poly.     Again.     Thou  canst  not  swear  too  deeply.^ 
Yet  hold,  I  will  believe  thee. — Yet  I  doubt. 

Her.     You  need   not,   sir. 

Arga.     Believe   him   not;    he   sees   you   credulous. 
And  would  impose  his  own  base  issue  on  you, 
And   fix  it  to  your  crown. 

Amal.     Behold  his  goodly  shape  and  feature,  sir; 
370  Methinks  he  much  resembles  you. 

Arga.     I  say,  if  you  have  any  issue  here. 
It   must   be   that    fair   creature; 
By  all  my  hopes  I  think  so. 

Amal.     Yes,   brother,   I   believe  you   by  your   hopes. 
For   they  are  all   for   her. 

Poly.  Call  the  youth  nearer. 

Her.     Leonidas,   the   king   would    speak   with    you. 

Poly.     Come    near,    and    be    not    dazzled    with    the    splendor. 
And   greatness  of  a   court. 

Leon.     I  need  not  this  incouragement ; 
3<i0  I    can    fear   nothing   but    the    gods. 

368.      to]  Q1Q2F.     o;i  QZ. 
«?77.     the]  Qig2F.     Q3  omits. 


164  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

And,   for  this  glory,  after   I  have  seen 
The   canopy   of   state    spread   wide    above 
In   the   abyss   of   heaven,   the    court   of   stars, 
The  blushing  morning,  and  the  rising  sun. 
What  greater  can  I  see? 

Foly.     This  speaks  thee  born  a  prince;  thou  art  thyself 

[Embracing   him. 
That  rising  sun,  and  shalt  not  see  on  earth 
A   brighter   then   thyself. — All   of  you   witness, 
That   for  my  son   I   here  receive   this   youth, 

390  This    brave,    this but    I    must    not    praise    him    further, 

Because   he  now   is   mine. 

Leon.  I  wonnot,  sir,  believe  [Kiieeling. 

That  I  am  made  your  sport ; 
For  I  find  nothing  in  myself  but  what 
Is   much   above   a    scorn.      I   dare  give    credit 
To  whatsoe'er  a  king,  like  you,  can  tell  me. 
Either  I  am,  or  will  deserve  to  be,  your  son. 

Arga.     I  yet  maintain  it  is  impossible 
This  young  man  should  be  yours;    for,  if  he  were, 
Why   should    Hermogenes    so   long    conceal    him, 
400  When  he  might  gain  so  much  by  his   discovery? 

Her.     I  stay'd  a  \^hi]e  to  make  him  worthy,  sir, 
Of  you.     But  in  that  time  I  found  [To  the  King. 

Somewhat   within   him   which   so   mov'd   my  love, 
I  never  could  resolve  to  part  with  him. 

Leon.     You   ask   too   many   questions,   and.  are  [To   Arga. 

Too  saucy  for  a  subject. 

Arga.     You  rather  over-act  your  part,  and  are 
Too  soon  a  prince. 

Leon.  Too  soon  you  '11  find  me  one. 

Foly.     Enough,  Argaleon! 
410  I  have  declar'd  him  mine;  and  you,  Leonidas, 
Live   well   with   him   I   love. 

Arga.     Sir,  if  he  be  your  son,  I  may  have  leave 
To  think  your   queen   had   twins.     Look   on   this  virgin; 
Hermogenes   would   enviously   deprive   you 
Of  half  your  treasure. 

Her.  Sir,  she  is  my  daughter, 

I  could,  perhaps,  thus  aided  by  this  lord, 
Prefer  her   to   be   yours;    but   truth   forbid 
I  should  procure  her  greatness  by  a  lie! 

PoJy.     Come  hither,  beauteous  maid.     Are  you    not  sorry 
420  Your  father  will  not  let  you  pass  for  mine? 

Palm.     I  am  content  to  be  what   heav'n  has  made  me. 

Poly.     Could  you  not  wish  yourself  a  princess  then? 
'     Palm.     Not   to  be   sister   to  Leonidas. 

401.  402.     I  stay'd    .    .    .    you]     One  line  in  QqF.     SsM  make  a  hemistich 
of  Of  you. 


ACT  II  165 

Foly.     Why,   my  sweet   maid? 

Palm.  Indeed  I  cannot  tell; 

But  I  could  be  content  to  be  his  handmaid. 

Arga.     1  wish  1  had  not  seen  her.  [Aside. 

Palm.     I  must  weep  for  your  good  fortune;  [To  Leon. 

Pray,  pardon  me,  indeed  I  cannot  help  it. 
Leonidas, — ^alas!    I  had   forgot, 
430  Now  I  must  call  you  prince, — but  must   I  leave  you? 

Leon.     1  dare  not  speak  to  her;  for,  if  I  should, 
I  must  weep  too.  [Aside. 

Poly.     No,  you  shall  live  at  court,  sweet   innocence, 
And  see  him  there.     Hermogenes, 
Tho'  you  intended  not  to  make  me  happy, 
Yet  you  shall  be  rewarded  for  th'   event. 
Come,  my  Leonidas,  let  's  thank  the  gods; 
Thou  for  a   father,  I  for  such  a  son. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Leon  and  Palm. 

Leon.     My   dear   Palmyra,   many   eyes   observe  me, 
440  And  I  have  thoughts  so  tender,  that   I  cannot 
In  public  speak  'em  to  you.     Some  hours  hence 
I   shall   shake   off   these   crowds   of   fawning   courtiers, 
And  then [Exit  Leon. 

Palm.     Fly  swift,  you  hours,  you  measure  time  for  me  in  vain, 
Till   you    bring   back   Leonidas   again. 
Be  shorter  now;   and,  to  redeem   that  wrong. 
When  he  and  I  are  met,  be  twice  as  long!  [Exit. 

ACT  II 

Melantha  and  Philotis. 

Phil.  Count  Ehodophil  's  a  fine  gentleman  indeed,  madam;  and, 
I  think,  deserves  your  affection. 

Mel.  Let  me  die  but  he  's  a  fine  man ;  he  sings  and  dances  en 
frangois,  and  writes  the  billets-doux  to  a  miracle. 

Phil.  And  those  are  no  small  talents,  to  a  lady  that  understands 
and  values  the  French  air  as  your  ladyship  does. 

Mel.     How  charming  is   the   French   air,  and   what   an   itourdi   bete 

is  one  of  our  untravel'd  islanders!      When  he  would  make  his  court  to 

me,  let  me  die  but  he  is  just  .lEsop's  ass,  that  would  imitate  the  courtly 

10  French    in    his   addresses;    but,    instead    of    those,   comes    pawing    upon 

me,  and  doing  all  things  so  mal  a  droitly. 

Phil.  'Tis  great  pity  Ehodophil  's  a  married  man,  that  you  may 
not   have  an   honorable   intrigue   with   him. 

Mel.  Intrigue,  Philotis!  that  's  an  old  phrase;  I  have  laid  that 
word  by;  amour  sounds  better.  But  thou  art  heir  to  all  my  cast  words, 
as  thou  art  to  my  old  wardrobe.  0,  Count  Ehodophil!  Ah  mon  chcr! 
I  could  live  and  die  with  him. 

434.     there]  Qq.     here  F. 


166  MAEEIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Enter  Palamede  and  a  Servant. 

Serv.     Sir,  this  is  1117  lady. 

Fala.     Then  this  is  she  that  is  to  be  divine,  and  nymph,   and  god- 
20  dess,  and  with  whom  I  am  to  be  desperately  in  love.      {Bows  to  her, 
delivering   a   letter.']      This   letter,   madam,   which   I   present   you   from 
your  father,  has  given  me  both  the  happy  opportunity,  and  the  bold- 
ness,  to   kiss   the   fairest   hands   in   Sicily. 

Mel.     Came  you  lately  from  Palermo,  sir? 

Fala.     But  yesterday,  madam. 

Mel.  [Reading  the  letter.]  Daughter,  receive  the  hearer  of  this 
letter,  as  a  gentleman  whom  I  have  chosen  to  make  you  happy.  [O 
Venus,  a  new  servant  sent  me!  and  let  me  die  but  he  has  the  air  of  a 
galant  homme!]  His  father  is  the  rich  lord  Cleodemus,  our  neighbor: 
30  /  suppose  you  'II  find  nothing  disagreeable  in  his  person  or  his  con- 
verse; both  which  he  has  improved  by  travel.  The  treaty  is  already  con- 
cluded, and  I  shall  be  in  town  within  these  three  days;  so  that  you 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  obey  your  careful  father. 

[To  Pala.]  Sir,  my  father,  for  whom  1  have  a  blind  obedience, 
has  commanded  me  to  receive  your  passionate  addresses;  but  you  must 
also  give  me  leave  to  avow,  that  I  cannot  merit  'em  from  so  accom- 
plish'd  a  cavalier. 

Pala.  I  want  many  things,  madam,  to  render  me  accomplish'd; 
and  the  first  and  greatest  of  'em  is  your  favor. 
40  Mel.  Let  me  die,  Philotis,  but  this  is  extremely  French;  but  yet 
Count  Ehodophil. — A  gentleman,  sir,  that  understands  the  grand 
monde  so  well,  who  has  haunted  the  best  conversations,  and  who 
(in  short)    has  voyag'd,  may  pretend  to  the  good  graces  of  any  lady. 

Pala.  [Aside.]  Heyday!  Grand  monde!  conversation!  voyag'd! 
and  good  graces!  1  find  my  mistress  is  one  of  those  that  run  mad 
in  new  French  words. 

Mel.     I  suppose,  sir,  you  have  made  the  tour  of  France;  and,  having 

seen   all    that    's    fine    there,   will    make    a   considerable    reformation    in 

the    rudeness   of    our   court:    for   let    me    die,   but   an   unfashion'd,   un- 

50  travel'd,  mere  Sicilian,  is  a  bete;  and  has  nothing  in  the  world  of  an 

honnete  homme. 

Pala.     I  must  confess,  madam,  that 

Mel.  And  what  new  minouets  have  you  brought  over  with  you? 
Their  minouets  are  to  a  miracle!  and  our  Sicilian  jigs  are  so  dull  and 
sad  to  'em! 

Pala.     For   minouets,  madam 

Mel.     And   what   new   plays   are   there   in  vogue?     And   who    danc'd 
best   in   the   last    grand    ballet?     Come,    sweet   servant,    you    shall   tell 
me  all. 
60        Pala.    [Aside.]     Tell    her    all?     Why,    she    asks   all,    and    will    hear 
nothing. — To   answer   in   order,   madam,  to   your   demands 

Mel.     I   am   thinking  what  a  happy  couple  we   shall   be!      For  you 

29.     galant  homme]   SsM.     gallant  homme  QqP. 
43.     any]  QqF.     a  SsM. 

47,  53.  54,  50.     tour,  minouets]      In  italics  in  QqF.     SsM  omit  italics  here, 
but  retain  them  for  grand  monde,  bien  tournd,  and  other  French  words. 


ACT  II  167 

shall  keep  up  your  correspondence  abroad,  and  everything  that  's  new 
writ,  in  France,  and  fine,  I  mean  all  that  's  delicate,  and  bien  tourn^, 
we  will  have  first. 

Pala.     But,  madam,  our  fortune 

Mel.     I   understand   you,    sir;    you   '11   leave   that   to   me.      For    the 
manage  of  a   family,   I   know   it   better  then   any  lady   in   Sicily. 

Pala.     Alas,  madam,  we 

70  Mel.  Then,  we  will  never  make  visits  together,  nor  see  a  play,  but 
always  apart;  you  shall  be  every  day  at  the  king's  leve,  and  1  at  the 
queen's;   and   we  will   never  meet   but   in   the   drawing-room. 

Phil.     Madam,   the   new   prince   is   just    pass'd   by   the   end    of    the 
walk. 

Mel.     The  new  prince,  say'st  thou?    Adieu,  dear  servant;  I  have  not 
made   my   court    to   him    these   two    long    hours.      O,    'tis    the   sweetest 

prince!    so    obligcant,    charmant,    ravissaiit,    that Well,    I    '11    make 

haste  to  kiss  his  hands,  and  then  make  half  a  score  of  visits  more, 
and  be  with  you  again  in  a  twinkling. 

[Exit  running,  with  Phil. 
go  Pala.  [solus.]  Now  Heaven,  of  th^  mercy,  bless  me  from  this 
tongue!  It  may  keep  the  field  against  a  whole  army  of  lawyers,  and 
that  in  their  own  language,  French  gibberish.  Tis  true,  in  the  daytime, 
'tis  tolerable,  when  a  man  has  field-room  to  run  from  it;  but  to  be 
shut  up  in  a  bed  with  her,  like  two  cocks  in  a  pit,  humanity  cannot 
support  it.  I  must  kiss  all  night  in  my  own  defense,  and  hold  her 
down,  like  a  boy  at  cuffs;  nay,  and  give  her  the  rising  blow  every 
time  she  begins  to  speak. 

Filter  Rhodophil. 

But  here  comes  Ehodophil.  'Tis  pretty  odd  that  my  mistress  should  so 
much   resemble  his:    the    same   newsmonger,   the   same   passionate    lover 

90  of  a   court,  the  same But   hasta,  since  I  must  marry  her,   I   '11   say 

nothing,   because  he  shall  not  laugh  at  my  misfortune. 

liho.     Well,  Palamede,  how  go  the  affairs  of  love?     You   've   seen 
your  mistress? 

Pala.     I   have   so. 

Mho.     And  how,  and  how?     Has  the  old  Cupid,  your  father,  chosen 
well   for  you?     Is  he  a   good   woodman? 

Pala.     She    's    much    handsomer    then    I    could    have    imagin'd:    in 
short,  I  love  her,  and  will  marry  her. 

£ho.     Then  you  are  quite  off  from  your  otiicr  mistress? 
ICO        Pala.     You  are  mistaken;    I  intend  to  love  'em  both,  as  a  reason- 
able man  ought  to  do:   for,  since  all  women  have  their  faults  and  im- 
perfections, 'tis  fit  that  one  of  'em  should  help  out  t'other. 

68.     menaRp]  SsM.    mennaqe  QIF  (no  italics),    niannage  Q2Q3  (no  italics). 

71.  leve]  U1Q2K,  with  italics,  leve  Q3,  with  italics,  levee  SsM.without 
italics. 

7:5.     bin  Q1Q2F.     Q3  omits. 

77.  obligcant,  charmaut,  ravissant]  QqF  omit  the  italics,  which  are 
supplied  l)V  SsM. 

HV,.      tinii]  Qql''.     Omitted  by  SsM. 

00.      hir,  ril]   Qr|F.      hrr.      I'll  SsM 

90.      other]  (,»1(JL'K.     old  QX 

102.     t'othtr\  (.J11J2F.     ihv  father  Q3.     the  other  SsM. 


168  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Hho.  This  •v\-ere  a  blessed  doctrine,  indeed,  if  our  wives  would 
hear  it;  but  they  're  their  own  enemies.  If  they  would  puffer  us  but 
now  and  then  to  rnake  excursions,  the  benefit  of  our  variety  would 
be  theirs;  instead  of  one  continued,  lazy,  tir'd  love,  they  would,  in  their 
turns,  have  twenty  vigorous,  fresh,  and  active  loves. 

Pala.  And  I  would  ask  any  of  'em,  whether  a  poor  narrow  brook, 
half  dry  the  best  part  of  the  year,  and  running  ever  one  way,  be  to 
110  be  compar'd  to  a  lusty  stream  that  has  ebbs  and  flows? 

Eho.     Aye,  or  is  half  so  profitable  for  navigation? 

Enter  Doralice,  walking  hy,  and  reading. 

Pala.     Ods  my  life,  Ehodophil,  will  you  keep  my  counsel? 

Bho.     Yes;  where  's  the  secret? 

Pala.  There  'tis:  [Shoioing  Dor.]  I  may  tell  you,  as  my  friend, 
sub  sigillo,  &c.,  this  is  that  very  numerical  lady  with  whom  I  am  in 
love. 

Eho.    [Aside.}     By   all   that   's   virtuous,   my  wife! 

Pala.     You  look  strangely.     How  do  you  like  her?     Is  she  not  very 
handsome  ? 
120        Kho.    [Aside.']     Sure  he   abuses   me.      \^To   him'] — Why   the   devil   do 
you   ask   my  judgment? 

Pala.  You  are  so  dogged  now,  you  think  no  man's  mistress  hand- 
some but  your  own.  Come,  you  shall  hear  her  talk  too;  she  has  wit, 
I  assure  you. 

Eho.  [Going  bacfe.]      This  is  too  much,  Palamede. 

Pala.  [Pulling  him  forward.]  Prethee  do  not  hang  back  so.  Of  an 
old  tried  lover,  thou  art  the  most  bashful  fellow! 

Dor.   [^Looking  wp.]     Were  you  so  near,  and  would  not  speak,  dear 
husband  ? 
130        Pala.   [Aside.]     Husband,  quoth  a!     I  have  cut  out  a  fine  piece  of 
work  for  myself. 

Eho.  Pray,  spouse,  how  long  have  you  been  acquainted  with  this 
gentleman? 

Dor.  Who?  I  acquainted  with  this  stranger?  To  my  best 
knowledge,  I  never  saw  him  before. 

Enter  Melantha  at  the  other  end. 

Pala.   [Aside.]    Thanks,  Fortune,  thou  hast  help'd  me. 

Eho.  Palamede,  this  must  not  pass  so.  I  must  know  your  mistress 
a  little  better. 

Pala.     It  shall  be  your  own  fault  else.     Come,  I  '11  introduce  you. 
140        Eho.     Introduce  me!     Where? 

Pala.     There.     To  my  mistress. 

[Pointing  to  Melantha,  who  swiftly  passes  over  the  stage. 

Eho.     Who?     Melantha!     O  heavens,  I  did  not  see  her. 

Pala.  But  I  did:  I  am  an  eagle  where  I  love;  I  have  seen  her 
this  half  hour. 


107.      lovrs]   QqF.     lorers  SsM. 

126.      [forward]   Q1Q2F.     [forwards]   Qo. 


ACT  II  169 

Dor.  [Aside.'\  I  find  he  )ias  wit,  he  has  got  off  so  readily;  but  it 
would  anger  nic,  if  he  should  love  Melantha. 

Rho.  [Aside.]  Now,  1  could  e'en  wish  it  were  my  wife  he  lov'd; 
I  find  lie's  to  be  married  to  my  mistress. 

Pala.     Shall  1  run  after,  and  fetch  her  back  again,  to  present  you 
150  to  her? 

Eho.  No,  you  need  not;  I  have  the  honor  to  have  some  small 
acquaintance  with  her. 

Pala.  [Aside.]  O  Jupiter!  what  a  blockhead  was  I,  not  to  find 
it  out!  My  wife,  that  must  be,  is  his  mistress.  I  did  a  little  suspect 
it  before.  Well,  I  must  marry  her,  because  she  's  handsome,  and 
because  I  hate  to  be  disinherited  for  a  younger  brother,  which  I  am 
sure  I  shall  be,  if  I  disobey;  and  yet  I  must  keep  in  with  Rhodophil, 
because  I  love  his  wife. —  [To  Riio.]  I  must  desire  you  to  make  my 
excuse  to  your  lady,  if  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  to  cause  any  mis- 
160  take;  and,  withal,  to  beg  the  honor  of  being  known  to  her. 

Eho.  O,  that  's  but  reason.  Hark  you,  spouse,  pray  look  upon 
this  gentleman  as  my  friend  ;  wlioni,  to  my  knowledge,  you  have  never 
seen  before  this  hour. 

Dor.  I  'm  so  obedient  a  wife,  sir,  that  my  husband's  commands 
shall  ever  be  a  law  to  me. 

Enter   Melantha   again,    hastily,   and   runs    to    embrace   Doralice. 

Mel.     O,  my  dear,   1   was  just   going  to   pay   my   devoirs   to  you;    I 

had  rot  time  this  morning,  for  making  my  court  to  the  king,  and  our 

new  prince.     Well,  never  nation  was  so  happy,  and  all  that,  in  a  young 

prince;  and  he  's  the  kindest  person  in  the  world  to  me,  let  me  die  if 

170  he  is  not. 

Dor.     He   has   been   bred   up   far   from   court,   and   therefore 

Mel.  That  imports  not.  Tho'  he  has  not  seen  the  grand  monde, 
and  all  that,  let  me  die  but  he  has  the  air  of  the  court,  most  absolutely. 

Pala.     But  yet,  madam,  he 

Mel.  0,  servant,  you  can  testify  that  I  am  in  his  good  graces. 
Well,  I   cannot  stay  long  with  you,  because   I   have  promis'd   him   this 

afternoon  to But  hark  you,  my  dear,  I  'II  tell  you  a  secret. 

[  Whispers  to  DoR. 

Eho.    [Aside.]     The   devil   's   in   me,   that    I   must   love  this   woman. 

Pala.   [Aside.]     The  devil  's  in  me,  that  I  must  marry  this  woman. 
jgO        Mel.    [Eaising    her    voice.]      So    the    prince    an<l    I — But    you    must 
make  a  secret   of  this,  my  dear;    for  I  would  not   for  the  world  your 
husband  should  hear  it,  or  my  tyrant,  there,  that  must  be. 

Pala.  [Aside.]  Well,  fair  impertinent,  your  whisper  is  not  lost,  we 
hear  you. 

Dor.     I    understand    then    that 

Mel.     I  "11  tell  you,  my  dear,  the  prince  took  me  by  the  hand,  and 
press'd  it  d  la  dcrobee,  because  the  king  was  near,  made  the  doux  yciix 
to  me,   and,   in  suitte,  said   a   thousan(l   gallantries,  or   let   me  die,   my 
dear. 
19Q        Dor.     Then   I   am    sure   you 


147.      c'cn^  QqF.     crcn  SsM. 

188.     in  suittej   QqK.     ensuitc  SsM. 


170  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Mel.     You  are  mistaken,  my  dear. 

Dor.     "What,  before  I  speak? 

Mel.  But  I  know  your  meaning.  You  think,  my  clear,  that  I  as- 
sum'd  something  of  fiertc  into  my  countenance,  to  rehute  him;  but, 
quite  contrary,  I  regarded  him, — I  know  not  how  to  express  it  in  our 
dull  Sicilian  language, — d'un  air  enjouc ;  and  said  nothing  but  d  d'autres, 
a  d'autres,  and  that  it  was  all  grimace,  and  would  not  pass  upon  me. 
Enter  Artemis:  Melantha  sees  her,  and  runs  away  from  Doralice. 
[To  Artemis.]  My  dear,  I  must  beg  your  pardon,  I  was  just  making  a 
loose  from  Doralice,  to  pay  my  respects  to  you.  Let  me  die,  if  I  ever 
200  pass  time  so  agreeably  as  in  your  company,  and  if  I  would  leave  it  for 
any  lady's  in  Sicily. 

Arte.     The  Princess  Amalthea  is  coming  this  way. 

Enter  Amalthea:  Melantha  runs  to  her. 

Mel.  O,  dear  madam!  I  have  been  at  your  lodgings,  in  my  new 
galeehe,  so  often,  to  tell  you  of  a  new  amour,  betwixt  two  persons 
whom  you  would  little  suspect  for  it,  that  let  me  die  if  one  of  my 
coach-horses  be  not  dead,  and  another  quite  tir'd,  and  sunk  under 
the  fatigue. 

Amal.     O,    Melantha,    I   can    tell    you    news;    the    prince    is    coming 
this  way. 
210        Mel.     The    prince?      O    sweet    prince!      He    and    I    are    to — and    I 
forgot    it. — Your    pardon,    sweet    madam,    for   my    abruptness.      Adieu, 
my  dears.     Servant,  Rhodophil.     Servant,  servant,  servant  all. 

[Exit  running. 

Amal.     Rhodophil,   a  word  with  you.  [Whispers. 

Dor.  [To  Pala.]     Why  do  you  not  follow  your  mistress,  sir? 

Fala.  Follow  her?  Why,  at  this  rate  she  '11  be  at  the  Indies 
within  this  half  hour. 

Dor.  However,  if  you  can't  follow  her  all  day,  you  '11  meet  her  at 
night,  I  hope? 

Fala.     But  can  you,  in  charity,  suffer  me  to  be  so  mortified,  without 

220  affording  me  some  relief?    If  it  be  but  to  punish  that  sign  of  a  husband 

there,   that   lazy   matrimony,   that    dull   insipid    taste,   who   leaves    such 

delicious  fare  at  home,  to  dine  abroad  on  worse  meat,  and  to  pay  dear 

for  't  into  the  bargain. 

Dor.  All  this  is  in  vain.  Assure  yourself,  I  will  never  admit  of  any 
visit  from  you  in  private. 

Pala.    That  is  to  tell  me,  in  other  words,  my  condition  is  desperate. 

Dor.     I  think  you  in  so  ill  a  condition  that  I  am  resolv'd  to  pray 

for  you,  this  very  evening,  in   the   close  walk   behind   the   terrace;    for 

that's  a  private  place,  and  there  I  am  sure  nobody  will  disturb  my  de- 

230  votions.     And  so,  good  night,  sir.  [Exit. 

Fala.     This  is   the   newest   way   of   making   an   appointment   I   ever 


195.     a  d'autres]   SsM.     ad  autre  QqP. 

203  204.      lnfloinri3     .     .     .     galeehe]  QqF.     lodgino     .     .     .     calCche  SsM. 

•>04'     amour]  QIF  have  italics,  which  are  omitted  in  Q2Q3  SsM. 

217.      all  (lain   Q1Q2F.     tn-fhiy  Q.S. 

219.     so]  Q1Q2F.     Omitted  by  Q3. 

222.     and  to  pay]  QqF.     and  ijay  SsM. 


ACT  II  171 

heard  of.  Let  women  alone  to  contrive  the  means;  I  find  we  are  but 
dunces  to  'em.  Well,  I  will  not  be  so  profane  a  wretch  as  to  interrupt 
her  devotions;  but,  to  make  'em  more  effectual,  I  '11  down  upon  my 
knees,  and  endeavor  to  join  my  own  with  'cm.  [Exit. 

Amal.  [To  Rho.]  I  know  already  they  do  not  love  each  other; 
and  that  my  brother  acts  but  a  forc'd  obedience  to  the  king's  com- 
mands; so  that,  if  a  quarrel  should  arise  betwixt  the  prince  and  him, 
I  were  most  miserable  on  both  sides. 
240  Eho.  There  shall  be  nothing  wanting  in  me,  madam,  to  prevent  bo 
sad  a  consequence. 

Enter  the  King,  Leoxidas;   the  King  whispers  Amalthea. 

[To  himself.]  I  begin  to  hate  this  Palamede,  because  he  is  to  marry 
my  mistress:  yet  break  with  him  I  dare  not,  for  fear  of  being 
quite  excluded  from  her  company.  'Tis  a  hard  case,  when  a  man  must 
go  by  his  rival  to  his  mistress;  but  'tis,  at  worst,  but  using  him  like  a 
pair  of  heavy  boots  in  a  dirty  journey;  after  I  have  fould  him  all 
day,  I   '11  throw  him  off  at  night.  [Exit. 

Amal.  [To  the  King.]     This  honor  is  too  great  for  me  to  hope. 

Foly.     You  shall  this  hour  have  the  assurance  of  it. 
250  Leonidas,  come  hither;   you  have  heard, 
I  doubt  not,  that  the  father  of  this  princess 
Was  my  most  faithful  friend,  while  I  was  yet 
A  pri%ate  man;  and,  when  I  did  assume 
This  crown,  he  serv'd  me  in  that  high  attempt. 
You  see,  then,  to  what  gratitude  obliges  me; 
Make  your  addresses  to  her. 

Leon.     Sir,  I  am  yet  too  young  to  be  a  courtier; 
I  should  too  much  betray  my  ignorance 
And   want    of   breeding    to   so    fair   a   lady. 
2flO         Amal.     Your  language  speaks  you  not  bred  up  in   desarts, 
But  in  the  softness  of  some  Asian  court, 
Where  luxury  and  ease  invent  kind  words 
To    cozen    tender   virgins    of   their    hearts. 

Poly.     You  need   not   doubt, 
But  in  what  words  soe'er  a  prince  can  offer 
His  crown  and  person,  they  will  be  receiv'd. 
You  know  my  pleasure  and  you  know  your  duty. 

Leon.     Yes,  sir,  I  shall  obey,  in  what   I  can. 

Poly.     In  what  you  can,  Leonidas?     Consider, 
270  He  's  both  your  king  and  father,  who  commands  you. 
Besides,  what  is  there  hard  in  my  injunction? 

Leon.     'Tis  hard  to  have  my  inclination  forc'd. 
I  would  not  marry,  sir;   and,  when  I  do, 
I   hope   you   '11   give   me   freedom   in   my   choice. 

Poly.     View   well   this   lady, 
Whose  mind  as  much  transcends  her  beauteous  face 
As   that   excels  all  others. 


247.      flOxit]   QIF.     Omitted  by  Q2Q3. 
254.     that]  QqF.     the  SsM. 


172  MAKKIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Amal.     My  beauty,  as  it  ne'er  could  merit  love, 
So  neither  can  it  beg:    and,  sir,  you  may 
280  Believe  that  what  the  king  has  oifer'd  you 
I  should  refuse,  did  I  not  value  more 
Your  person  then  your  crown. 

Leon.  Think  it  not  pride, 

Or   my   new   fortunes,   swell    me   to   contemn   you ; 
Think   less,   that    I   want   eyes   to    see  your   beauty; 
And,   least   of   all,   think   duty  wanting  in   me 
T'  obey  a  father's  will.     But 

Poly.  But  what,  Leonidas? 

For  I  must  know  your  reason ;    and  be  sure 
It   be   convincing   too. 

Leon.  Sir,  ask  the  stars, 

Which  have  impos'd  love  on  us,  like  a  fate, 
290  Why  minds   are  bent   to   one,  and   fly  another. 
Ask  why  all  beauties  cannot  move  all  hearts; 
For  tho'  there  may 

Be  made  a  rule  for  color,  or  for  feature. 
There  can  be  none  for  liking. 

Foly.     Leonidas,  you  owe  me  more 
Then  to  oppose  your  liking  to  my  pleasure. 

Leon.     I  owe  you  all  things,  sir;   but  something,  too, 
I  owe  myself. 

Poly.     You  shall  dispute  no  more;   I  am  a  king, 
300  And  I  will  be  obey'd. 

Leon.    You  are  a  king,  sir,  but  you  are  no  god; 
Or,  if  you  were,  you  could  not  force  my  will. 

Poly.   [Aside.]     But  you  are  just,  you  gods;  O,  you  are  just, 
In  punishing  the  crimes  of  my  rebellion 
With  a  rebellious  son! 
Yet  1  can  punish  him,  as  you  do  me. — 
Leonidas,  there  is  no  jesting  with 
My  will:    I  ne'er  had   done  so  much   to  gain 
A  crown,  but  to  be  absolute  in  all  things. 
310        Amal.     O,  sir,  be  not  so  much  a  king  as  to 
Forget  you  are  a  father:  soft  indulgence 
Becomes  that  name.     Tho'  nature  gives  you  pow'r 
To  bind  his  duty,  'tis  with  silken  bonds: 
Command  hira,  then,  as  you  command  yourself; 
He  is  as  much  a  part  of  you,  as  are 
Your  appetite  and  will,  and  those  you  force  not. 
But  gently  bend,  and  make  'em  pliant  to  your  reason. 

Poly.     It  may  be  I  have  us'd  too  rough  a  way. 
Forgive  me,  my  Leonidas ;  I  know 
320  I  lie  as  open  to  the  gusts  of  passion. 
As  the  bare  shore  to  every  beating  surge: 
I  will  not  force  thee  now;  but  I  intreat  thee. 
Absolve  a  father's  vow  to  this  fair  virgin; 


ACT  II  173 

A  vow,  which  hopes  of  having  such  a  son 
First  caus'd. 

Leon.     Show   not  my  disobedience  by  your  pray  rs; 
For  I  must  still  deny  you,  tho'  I  now 
Appear  more   guilty   to   myself,   than  you: 
I  have  some  reasons,  which  I  cannot  utter, 
330  That  force  my  disobedience;  yet  I  mourn 

To  death,  that  the  first  thing  you  e'er  injoin'd  me, 
Should   be   that   only   one   command   in   nature 
Which  I  could  not  obey. 

Poly.     I  did  descend  too  much  below  myself, 
When  I  intreated  him. — Hence,  to  thy  desart! 
Thou  'rt  not  my  son,  or  art  not  fit  to  be. 

Amah     Great   sir,   I  humbly   beg  you,   make   not   me  [Eneelinf, 

The  cause  of  your   displeasure.     I   absolve 
Your  vow;  far,  far  from  me  be  such  designs; 
340  So  wretched  a   desire  of  being  great 
By  making  him  unhappy.     You  may  see 
Something  so  noble  in  the  prince  his  nature. 
As  grieves  him  more  not  to  obey,  then  you, 
That  you  are  not  obey'd. 

Foly.  Then,   for   your   sake, 

I'll  give  him  one  day  longer,  to  consider 
Not  to  deny;   for  my  resolves  are  firm 
As  fate,  that  cannot  change.  [Exeunt  King  and  Amal. 

Leon.  And  so  are  mine. 

This  beauteous   princess,  charming  as   she  is, 
Could  never  make  me  happy ;   I  must  first 
350  Be  false  to  my  Palmyra,  and  then  wretched. 
But,  then,   a   father's  anger! 
Suppose   he  should  recede   from   his   own   vow. 
He  never  would  permit  me  to  keep  mine. 

Enter  Palmyra;   Argaleon  following  her,  a  little  after. 
See,  she  appears! 

I   '11   think   no   more  of  anything  but   her. 
Yet  I  have  one  hour  good  ere  I  am  wretched. 
But,  O!   Argaleon  follows  her!   So  night 
Treads  on  the   footsteps  of  a  winter's  sun. 
And  stalks  all  black  behind  him. 

Palm.  O,  Leonidas, 

360  (For  1  must  call  you  still  by  that  dear  name,) 
Free  me  from  this  bad  man. 

Leon.     I  hope  he  dares  not  be  injurious  to  you. 

Arga.     I  rather  was  injurious  to  myself. 
Then  her. 

342.      prinrr  his]   QqF.     priitrc's  SsM. 

35:{.     uouiii]  giF.    uiu  ir2(y.i. 

3.^0.      hour  oooil  \  (j(|K.     </<)nil  hour  SsM. 
360.     bi/\  gig:iF.      g:i  omits. 


174  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Leon.     That  must  be  judg'd,  when  I  hear  what  you  said. 

Arga.     I  think  you  need  not  give  yourself  that  trouble: 
It  concern'd  us  alone. 

Leon.     You  answer  saucily,  and  indirectly: 
What  interest  can  you  pretend  in  her? 
370        Arga.     It  may  be,  sir,  I  made  her  some  expressions 
Which  I  would  not  repeat,  because  they  were 
Below  my  rank,  to  one  of  hers. 

Leon.     What  did  he  say.  Palmyra? 

Fahn.     I'll  tell  you  all.     First,  he  began  to  look, 
And  then  he  sigh'd,  and  then  he  look'd  again; 
At  last,  he  said  my  eyes  wounded  his  heart : 
And,  after  that,  he  talk'd  of  flames  and  fires, 
And  such  strange  words  that  I  believ'd  he  conjur'd. 

Leon.     O  my  heart !      Leave  me,  Argaleon. 
380         Arga.     Come,  sweet  Palmyra, 

I  will  instruct  you  better  in  my  meaning: 
You  see  he  would  be  private. 

Leon.  Go  yourself, 

And  leave  her  here. 

Arga.  Alas,  she's  ignorant, 

And  is  not  fit  to  entertain  a  prince. 

Leon.     First  learn  what's  fit  for  you;  that's  to  obey. 

Arga.     I  know  my  duty  is  to  wait  on  you. 
A  great  king's  son,  like  you,  ought  to  forget 
Such  mean  converse. 

Leon.                 What?    a   disputing   subject? 
Hence,  or  my  sword  shall  do  me  justice  on  thee. 
390         Arga.     Yet  I  may  find  a  time [Going. 

Leon.  What's  that  you  mutter, — 

[Going  after  Mm. 
To  find  a  time? 

Arga.         To  wait  on  you  again — 
[Softly.'\    In  the  meanwhile   I'll  watch  you. 

[Exit,  and  watches  during  the  scene, 

Leon.     How  precious  are  the  hours  of  love  in  courts! 
In  cottages,  where  love  has  all  the  day, 
Full,  and  at  ease,  he  throws  it  half  away. 
Time  gives  himself,  and  is  not  valued,  there; 
But  sells  at  mighty  rates  each  minute,  here: 
There,  he  is  lazy,  unemploy'd,  and  slow; 
Here,  he's  more  swift ;  and  yet  has  more  to  do. 
400  So  many  of  his  hours  in  public  move 
That  few  are  left  for  privacy  and  love. 

Palm.     The  sun,  methinks,  shines  faint  and  dimly,  here; 
Light  is  not  half  so  long,  nor  half  so  clear: 
But,  O!    when  every  day  was  yours  and  mine. 
How  early  up!    what  haste  he  made  to  shine! 

Leon.     Such  golden  days  no  prince  must  hope  to  see, 
Whose  ev'ry  subject  is  more  blest  then  he, 


ACT  II  175 


Palm.     Do  you  remember,  when  their  tasks  were  done, 
How  all  the  youth  did  to  our  cottage  run? 
410  While  winter  winils  were  whistling  loiul  without, 
Our  cheerful  liearth  was  circled  round  about: 
With  strokes  in  ashes  maids  their  lovers  drew; 
And  still  you  fell  to  me,  and  I  to  you. 

Leon.     When  love  tiid  of  my  heart  possession  take, 
I  was  so  young,  my  soul  was  scarce  awake: 
I  cannot  tell  when  first  I  thought  you  fair; 
But  suck'd  in  love,  insensibly  as  air. 

Palm.     I  know  too  well  when  first  my  love  began, 
When,  at  our  wake,  you  for  the  chaplet  ran: 
420  Then  I  was  made  the  lady  of  the  May, 
And,  with  the  garland,  at  the  goal  did  stay: 
Still,  as  you  ran,  I  kept  you  full  in  view ; 
I  hop'd,  and  wish'd,  and  ran,  methought,  for  you. 
As  you  came  near,  I  hastily  did  rise. 
And  streteh'd  my  arm  outright,  that  held  the  prize. 
The  custom  was  to  kiss  whom  I  should  crown; 
You  kneel'd,  and  in  my  lap  your  head  laid  down: 
I  blush'd,  and  blush'd,  and  did  the  kiss  delay; 
At  last  my  subjects  forc'd  me  to  obey: 
430  But,  when  I  gave  the  crown,  and  then  the  kiss, 

I  scarce  had  breath  to  say:    "Take  that, — and  this." 

Leon.     I  felt,  the  while,  a  pleasing  kind  of  smart; 
The  kiss  went,  tingling,  to  my  very  heart. 
When  it  was  gone,  the  sense  of  it  did  stay ;  ~| 
The  sweetness  cling"d  upon  my  lips  all  day,    V 
Like  drops  of  honey,  loth  to  fall  away.  J 

Palm.     Life,  like  a  prodigal,  gave  all  his  store 
To  my  first  youth,  and  now  can  give  no  more. 
You  are  a  prince;  and,  in  that  high  degree, 
440  No  longer  must  converse  with  humble  me. 

Leon.     'Twas  to  my  loss  the  gods  that  title  gavej 
A  tyrant's  son  is  doubly  born  a  slave: 
He  gives  a  crown ;  but,  to  prevent  my  life 
From  being  happy,  loads  it  with  a  wife. 

Palm.     Speak  quickly;  what  have  you  resolv'd  to  do? 

Leon.     To  keep  my  faith  inviolate  to  you. 
He  threatens  me  with  exile,  and  with  shame, 
To  lose  my  birthright,  and  a  prince  his  name; 
But  there's  a  blessing  whicli  he  did  not  mean, 
450  To  send  me  back  to  love  and  you  again. 

Palm.     Why  was  not  I  a  princess  for  your  sake? 
But  heav'n  no  more  such  miracles  can  make: 
And,  pince  that  cannot,  this  must  never  be; 
You  shall  not  lose  a  crown  for  love  of  me. 


43.'5.      The]   QriF.     That  SsM. 

very]  QUJ'JK.     q:{  omits. 
448.     prince  liis\  (jql-".     prince's  SsM. 


176  MAKRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Live  happy,  and  a  nobler  choice  pursue; 
I  shall  complain  of  fate,  but  not  of  you. 

Leon.     Can  you  so  easily  without  me  live? 
Or  could  you  take  the  counsel  which  you  give? 
Were  you  a  princess,  would  you  not  be  true? 
460         Palm.     I  would;   but  cannot  merit  it  from  you. 

Leon.     Did  you  not  merit,  as  you  do,  my  heart, 
Love  gives  esteem,  and  then  it  gives  desert. 
But  if  I  basely  could  forget  my  vow. 
Poor  helpless  innocence,  what  would  you  do? 

Palm.     In  woods,  and  plains,  where  first  my  love  began, 
There  would  I  live,  retir'd  from  faithless  man: 
I'd  sit  all  day  within  some  lonely  shade. 
Or  that  close  arbor  which  your  hands  have  made: 
I'd  search  the  groves,  and  ev'ry  tree,  to  find 
470  Where  you  had  earv'd  our  names  upon  the  rind : 
Your  hook,  your  scrip,  all  that  was  yours,  I'd  keep, 
And  lay  'em  by  me  when  I  went  to  sleep. 
Thus  would  I  live:   and  maidens,  when  I  die. 
Upon  my  hearse  white  true-love-knots  should  tie ; 
And  thus  my  tomb  should  be  inscrib'd  above: 
Here  tlie  forsaken  virgin  rests  from  love. 

Leon.     Think  not  that  time  or  fate  shall  e'er  divide 
Those  hearts,   which  love  and  mutual  vows  have  tied. 
But  we  must  part ;  farewell,  my  love. 

Palm.  Till  when? 

480         Leon.     Till  the  next  age  of  hours  we  meet  again. 
Meantime — we  may. 

When  near  each  other  we  in  public  stand, 
Contrive  to  catch  a  look,  or  steal  a  hand : 
Fancy  will  every  touch  and  glance  improve, 
And  draw  the  most  spirituous  parts  of  love. 
Our  souls  sit  close  and  silently  within, 
And  their  own  web  from  their  own  intrals  spin; 
And  when  eyes  meet  far  off,  our  sense  is  such, 
That,  spider-like,  we  feel  the  tender'st  touch.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IIL     SCENE  L 

Enter  Rhodophil,   meeting   Doralice   and   Artemis;    Rhodophil   and 

DoRAMCE  embrace. 

Bho.     My  own  dear  heart ! 

Dor.  My  own  true  love!  [She  starts  bacJc.]  I  had  forgot  myself  to 
be  so  kind ;  indeed,  I  am  very  angry  with  you,  dear ;  you  are  come  home 
an  hour  after  you  appointed:  if  you  had  stay'd  a  minute  longer,  I  was 
just  considering  whether  I  should  stab,  hang,  or  drown  myself. 

[Embracing  Mm. 


487.     intrals]  QqF.     entrails  SsM. 


ACT  in,  SCENE  I  177 

Elio.  Nothing  but  the  king's  business  could  have  hinder'd  me;  and 
I  was  so  vex'd  that  I  was  just  laying  down  my  commission,  rather  then 
have  fail'd  my  dear.  [Kissing  her  hand. 

Arte.     Why,  this  is  love  as  it  should  be  betwixt  man  and  wife:  such 
10  another   couple   would    bring   marriage   into    fashion   again.      But    is   it 
always  thus  betwixt  you  ? 

Eho,  Always  thus!  This  is  nothing.  I  tell  you,  there  is  not  such  a 
pair  of  turtles  in  all  Sicily;  there  is  such  an  eternal  cooing  and  kissing 
betwixt  us  that  indeed  it  is  scandalous  before  civil  company. 

Dor.  Well,  if  I  had  imagin'd  I  should  have  been  this  fond  fool,  I 
would  never  have  married  the  man  I  lov'd :  I  married  to  be  happy,  and 
have  made  myself  miserable  by  over-loving.  Nay,  and  now  my  case  is 
desperate;  for  I  have  been  married  above  these  two  years,  and  find 
myself  every  day  worse  and  worse  in  love:  nothing  but  madness  can  be 
20  the  end  on  't. 

Arte.     Doat  on,  to  the  extremity,  and  you  are  happy. 

Dor.  He  deserves  so  infinitely  much,  that,  the  truth  is,  there  can 
be  no  doating  in  the  matter;  but,  to  love  well,  I  confess,  is  a  work 
that  pays  itself.     'Tis  telling  gold,  and,  after,  taking  it  for  one's  pains. 

Eho.  By  that  I  should  be  a  very  covetous  person;  for  I  am  ever 
pulling  out  my  money  and  putting  it  into  my  pocket  again. 

Dor.     O  dear  Rhodophil! 

Eho.     O  sweet  Doralice!  [Embracing  each  other. 

Arte.    [Aside.']     Nay,   I  am  rcsolv'd,   I'll   never  interrupt   lovers:    I'll 
30  leave  'em  as  happy  as  I  found  'em.  [Steals  aicay. 

Eho.  [Looking  up.]    What,  is  she  gone? 

Dor.     Yes;  and  without  taking  leave. 

Rho.   [Parting  from  her.]    Then  there's  enough  for  this  time. 

Dor.     Yes,  sure,  the  scene's  done,  I  take  it. 
[They  walk  contrary  ways  on  the  stage;  he,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  whistling;  she  singing  a  dull  melancholy  tune. 

Eho.     Pox  o'  your  dull  tune,  a  man  can't  think  for  you. 

Dor.  Pox  o'  your  damn'd  whistling;  you  can  neither  be  company  to 
me  yourself,  nor  leave  me  to  the  freedom  of  my  own  fancy. 

Eho.     Well,  thou  art  the  most  provoking  wife ! 

Dor.     Well,    thou    art    the    dullest    husband,    thou   art    never    to    bo 
40  provok'd. 

Eho.  I  was  never  thought  dull  till  I  married  thee;  and  now  thou 
hast  made  an  old  knife  of  me;  thou  hast  whetted  me  so  long,  till  I 
have  no  edge  left. 

Dor.  I  see  you  are  in  the  husband's  fashion;  you  reserve  all  your 
good  humors  for  your  mistresses,  and  keep  your  ill  for  your  wives. 

Eho.  Prethee  leave  me  to  my  own  cogitations;  I  am  thinking  over 
all  my  sins,  to  find  for  which  of  them  it  was  I  married  thee. 

Dor.     Whatever  your  sin  was,  mine's  the  punishment. 

Eho.     My  comfort  is,  thou  art  not  immortal;  and,  when  that  blessed, 

8.  have  fail'd]  Qq.     fail  F. 

ir{.  all]  QqF.     SsM  omit. 

29.  /  am]   QIF.     I'm  Q2Q.3. 

34.  (stage  direction),    (pockets]   SsM.      [pocket]    Q<jF,  prolialily  l>,v  a   mis- 
print. 

47.  it  was]  QlQ2r'\     Q.T  omits, 


178  MAREIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

50  that  divine  day  comes,  of  thy  departure,  I'm  resolv'd  I'll  make  one 
holiday  more  in  the  almanac  for  thy  sake. 

Dor.  Aye,  you  had  need  make  a  holiday  for  me,  for  I  am  sure  you 
have  made  me  a  martyr. 

Eho.  Then,  setting  my  victorious  foot  upon  thy  head,  in  the  first 
hour  of  thy  silence  (that  is,  the  first  hour  thou  art  dead,  for  I  despair 
of  it  before)  I  will  swear  by  thy  ghost,  an  oath  as  terrible  to  me  as 
Styx  is  to  the  gods,  never  more  to  be  in  danger  of  the  banes  of 
matrimony. 

Bor.  And  I  am  resolv'd  to  marry  the  very  same  day  thou  diest,  if 
60  it  be  but  to  show  how  little  I'm  concern'd  for  thee. 

Mho.  Prethee,  Doralice,  why  do  we  quarrel  thus  a-days?  Ha?  This 
is  but  a  kind  of  heathenish  life,  and  does  not  answer  the  ends  of 
marriage.  If  I  have  err'd,  propound  what  reasonable  atonement  may 
be  made  before  we  sleep,  and  I  shall  not  be  refractory;  but  withal 
consider  I  have  been  married  these  three  years,  and  be  not  too  tyrannical. 

Dor.  What  should  you  talk  of  a  peace  abed,  when  you  can  give  no 
security  for  performance  of  articles? 

EJio.  Then,  since  we  must  live  together,  and  both  of  us  stand  upon 
our  terms,  as  to  matter  of  dying  first,  let  us  make  ourselves  as  merry  as 
70  we  can  with  our  misfortunes. 

Why,  there's  the  devil  on  't!  If  thou  couldst  make  my  enjoying 
thee  but  a  little  less  easy,  or  a  little  more  unlawful,  thou  shouldst  see 
what  a  termagant  lover  I  would  prove.  I  have  taken  such  pains  to 
enjoy  thee,  Doralice,  that  I  have  fancied  thee  all  the  fine  women  in  the 
town,  to  help  me  out.  But  now  there's  none  left  for  me  to  think  on,  my 
imagination  is  quite  jaded.  Thou  art  a  wife,  and  thou  wilt  be  a  wife, 
and  I  can  make  thee  another  no  longer.  {Exit  Rho. 

Dor.  Well,  since  thou  art  a  husband,  and  wilt  be  a  husband,  I'll  try 
if  I  can  find  out  another.  'Tis  a  pretty  time  we  women  have  on  't,  to 
80  be  made  widows  while  we  are  married.  Our  husbands  think  it  reasonable 
to  complain,  that  we  are  the  same,  and  the  same  to  them,  when  we  have 
more  reason  to  complain  that  they  are  not  the  same  to  us.  Because  they 
cannot  feed  on  one  dish,  therefore  we  must  be  starv'd.  'Tis  enough  that 
they  have  a  sufiicient  ordinary  provided,  and  a  table  ready  spread  for 
'em:  if  they  cannot  fall  to,  and  eat  heartily,  the  fault  is  theirs;  and 
'tis  pity,  methinks,  that  the  good  creature  should  be  lost,  when  many  a 
poor  sinner  would  be  glad  on  't. 

Enter  Melantha  and  Artemis  to  her. 

Mel.  Dear,  my  dear,  pity  me,  I  am  so  chagrin  to-day,  and  have  had 
the  most  signal  affront  at  court!     I  went  this  afternoon  to  do  my  devoir 


51,  52.      holiflny]   SsM.     holy-day  QqF. 

56.  thy]   QIF.     the  Q2Q.3. 

57.  in  danger]  Q1Q2F.     in  the  danger  Q3. 
60.     be  but  to]  QIP.     Q2Q3  omit  but. 

64.      shall]   QqF.     vill  SsM. 

66.     What]  QIF.     Why  Q2Q3. 

69.     to  viatter]  Q1Q2F.     to  the  matter  Q3.     to  ^natters  SsM. 

72.     less  easy]  QqF.     SsM  omit  less. 

or  a]  Q1Q2F.     or  but  a  Q3. 
74.     in]  QqF.     of  SsM. 
38,     chagrin]  QqF  have  no  italics,  which  are  added  by  SsM, 


ACT  III,  SCENE  I  179 

90  to  Princess  Amalthea,  found  her,  convers'd  with  her,  and  help'd  to  make 
her  court  some  half  an  hour;  after  which,  she  went  to  take  the  air, 
chose  out  two  ladies  to  go  with  her  that  came  in  after  me,  and  left  me 
most  barbarously  behind  hor. 

Arte.  You  are  the  less  to  be  pitied,  Melantha,  because  you  subject 
yourself  to  these  affronts  by  coming  perpetually  to  court,  where  you 
have  no  business  nor  employment. 

Mel.  I  declare,  I  had  rather  of  the  two  be  raillied,  nay,  mal  traitee 
at  court,  then  be  deified  in  the  town;  for,  assuredly,  nothing  can  be  so 
ridicule  as  a  mere  town  lady. 
100  Dor.  Especially  at  court.  How  I  have  seen  'em  crowd  and  sweat  in 
the  drawing-room,  on  a  holiday  night;  for  that's  their  time  to  swarm 
and  invade  the  presence!  O,  how  they  catch  at  a  bow,  or  any  little 
salute  from  a  courtier,  to  make  show  of  their  acquaintance!  And, 
rather  then  be  thought  to  be  quite  unknown,  they  court'sy  to  one  an- 
other; but  they  take  true  pains  to  come  near  the  circle,  and  press  and 
peep  upon  the  princess,  to  write  letters  into  the  country  how  she  was 
dress'd,  while  the  ladies  that  stand  about  make  their  court  to  her  with 
abusing  them. 

Arte.     These  are  sad  truths,  Melantha;  and  therefore  I  would  e'en 
110  advise  you  to  quit  the  court,  and  live  either  wholly  in  the  town,  or,  if 
you  like  not  that,  in  the  country. 

Dor.  In  the  country!  Nay,  that's  to  fall  beneath  the  town,  for  they 
live  there  upon  our  offals  here.  Their  entertainment  of  wit  is  only  the 
remembrance  of  what  they  had  when  they  were  last  in  town ;  they  live 
this  year  upon  the  last  year's  knowledge,  as  their  cattle  do  all  night  by 
chewing  the  cud  of  what  they  eat  in  the  afternoon. 

Mel.     And  they  tell,  for  news,  such  unlikely  stories!     A  letter  from 

one  of  us  is  such  a  present  to   'em  that  the  poor  souls  wait   for  the 

carrier's-day  with  such  devotion  that  they  cannot  sleep  the  night  before. 

120         Arte.     No  more  then  I  can,  the  night  before  I  am  to  go  a  journey. 

Dor.     Or  I,  before  I  am  to  try  on  a  new  gown. 

Mel.  A  song  that's  stale  here  will  be  new  there  a  twelvemonth 
hence;  and  if  a  man  of  the  town  by  chance  come  amongst  'em,  he's 
reverenc'd  for  teaching  'em  the  tune. 

Dor.  A  friend  of  mine,  who  makes  songs  sometimes,  came  lately  out 
of  the  west,  and  vow'd  he  was  so  put  out  of  count'nance  with  a  song  of 
his;  for,  at  the  first  country  gentleman's  he  visited,  he  saw  three  tailors 
cross-legg'd  upon  the  table  in  the  hall,  who  were  tearing  out  as  loud  as 
ever  they  could  sing, 

130  After  the  pangs  of  a  desperate  lover,  &c. 

And  all  that  day  he  heard  nothing  else  but  the  daughters  of  the  house, 
and  the  maids,  humming  it  over  in  every  corner,  and  the  father 
whistling  it. 

Arte.     Indeed,   1   have  observ'd   of  myself,   that   when   I  am   out   of 


07.  raillied]  raillvVl  QqF.  with  italics,     rallied  SsM,  without  italics. 

ll.*?.      there]  QqF.     Omittod  hy  SsM. 

11.5.      the  last]  giQ'JF.     Q.S  omits  the. 

131.     all  that  day  he  heard  nothiny]  gqF.   that  all  dai/  he  heard  of  nothing  SsM, 


180  MAEEIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

town  but  a  fortnight,  I  am  so  humble  that  I  would  receive  a  letter  from 
my  tailor  or  mercer  for  a  favor. 

Mel.  When  I  have  been  at  grass  in  the  summer,  and  am  new  come 
up  again,  methinks  I'm  to  be  turn'd  into  ridicule  by  all  that  see  me; 
but  when  I  have  been  once  or  twice  at  court,  I  begin  to  value  myself 
140  again,  and  to  despise  my  country  acquaintance. 

Arte.  There  are  places  where  all  people  may  be  ador'd,  and  we 
ought  to  know  ourselves  so  well  as  to  choose  'em. 

Dor.  That's  very  true;  your  little  courtier's  wife,  who  speaks  to 
the  king  but  once  a  month,  need  but  go  to  a  town  lady,  and  there  she 
may  vapor  and  cry,  "The  king  and  I,"  at  every  word.  Your  town  lady, 
who  is  laugh'd  at  in  the  circle,  takes  her  coach  into  the  city,  and  there 
she's  call'd  Your  Honor,  and  has  a  banquet  from  the  merchant's  wife, 
whom  she  laughs  at  for  her  kindness.  And  as  for  my  finical  cit,  she 
removes  but  to  her  country  house,  and  there  insults  over  the  country 
150  gentlewoman  that  never  comes  up,  who  treats  her  with  frumity  and 
custard,  and  opens  her  dear  bottle  of  miraiilis  beside,  for  a  gill  glass 
of  it  at  parting. 

Arte.  At  last,  I  see,  we  shall  leave  Melantha  where  we  found  her; 
for,  by  your  description  of  the  town  and  country,  they  are  become  more 
dreadful  to  her  then  the  court,  where  she  was  affronted.  But  you  forget 
we  are  to  wait  on  the  Princess  Amalthea.     Come,  Doralice. 

Dor.     Farewell,  Melantha. 

Mel.     Adieu,  my  dear. 

Arte.  You  are  out  of  charity  with  her,  and  therefore  I  shall  not 
160  gi^6  your  service. 

Mel.  Do  not  omit  it,  I  beseech  you;  for  I  have  such  a  tender  for 
the  court,  that  I  love  it  ev'n  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  lobby,  and 
can  never  be  rebutee  by  any  usage.  But  hark  you,  my  dears;  one  thing 
I  had  forgot,  of  great  concernment. 

Dor.     Quickly  then,  we  are  in  haste. 

Mel.  Do  not  call  it  my  service,  that's  too  vulgar;  but  do  my  haise- 
mains  to  the  Princess  Amalthea;   that  is  spirituelle ! 

Dor.     To  do  you  service,  then,  we  will  prendre  the  carrosse  to  court, 

and    do   your    baise-mains   to   the   Princess    Amalthea,   in   your    phrase 

170  spirituelle.  [Exeunt  Artemis  and  Doralice. 

Entsr  Philotis,  with  a  paper  in  her  hand. 

Mel.  O,  are  you  there,  minion?  And,  well,  are  not  you  a  most 
precious  damsel,  to  retard  all  my  visits  for  want  of  language,  when  you 
know  you  are  paid  so  well  for  furnishing  me  with  new  words  for  my 
daily  conversation?  Let  me  die,  if  I  have  not  run  the  risk  already  to 
speak  like  one  of  the  vulgar,  and  if  I  have  one  phrase  left  in  all  my 
store,  that  is  not  thridbare  et  use,  and  fit  for  nothing  but  to  be  thrown 
to  peasants. 

Phil.     Indeed,  madam,   I   have  been   very   diligent  in   my  vocation; 

138.     I'm]  Q1Q2F.    I  am  Q3. 
150.     frumity]  Q1Q2F.     furmity  Q3  SsM. 

161.     tender]    QqF.    without   italics,      tendre   SsM,   with   italics.      Similarly 
below,  p.  208,  1.  101  and  p.  209,  1.  155. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  I  181 

but  you  have  so  drain'J  all  the   French  plays  and  romances  that  they 
180  are  not  able  to  supply  you  with  words  for  your  daily  expenses. 

Mel.  Drain'd?  What  a  word's  there!  Epuise,  you  sot  you.  Come, 
produce  your  morning's  work. 

Phil.     'Tis  here,  madam.  [SJiows  the  paper. 

Mel.  O,  my  Venus!  fourteen  or  fifteen  words  to  serve  me  a  whole 
day!  Let  me  die,  at  this  rate  I  cannot  last  till  night.  Come,  read  your 
works.     Twenty  to  one,  half  of  'em  will  not  pass  muster  neither. 

Phil.     Sottises.  [Beads. 

Mel.     Sottises:  bon.     That's  an  excellent  word  to  begin  withal;   as, 
for  example,  he  or  she  said  a  thousand  sottises  to  me.     Proceed. 
190        Phil.     Figure:  as,   what  a  figure  of  a  man  is  there!      Naive,  and 
naivete. 

Mel.     Naive!  as  how? 

Fhil.  Speaking  of  a  thing  that  was  naturally  said,  it  was  so  naive; 
or,  such  an  innocent  piece  of  simplicity,  'twas  such  a  naivete. 

Mel.     Truce  with  your  interpretations.     Make  haste. 

Phil.  Foible,  chagrin,  grimace,  embarrasse,  double  entendre, 
equivoque,  eclaircissement,  suite,  bcvue,  fagon,  panchant,  coup  d'ctourdi, 
and  ridicule. 

Mel.     Hold,  hold;   how  did  they  begin? 
200         Phil.     They  began  at  sottises,  and  ended  en  ridicule. 

Mel.  Now  give  me  your  paper  in  my  hand,  and  hold  you  my  glass, 
while  I  practice  my  postures  for  the  day.  [Melantha  laughs  in  the 
glass.]     How  does  that  laugh  become  my  face? 

Phil.     Sovereignly  well,  madam. 

Mel.  Sovereignly?  Let  me  die,  that's  not  amiss.  That  word  shall 
not  be  yours;  I'll  invent  it,  and  bring  it  up  myself;  my  new  point  gorget 
shall  be  yours  upon  't.     Not  a  word  of  the  word,  I  charge  you. 

Phil.     I  am  dumb,  madam. 

Mel.     That  glance,  how  suits  it  with  my  face? 

[Looking  in  the  glass. 
210         Phil.     'Tis  so  languissant! 

Mel.  Languissant!  That  word  shall  be  mine  too,  and  my  last 
Indian  gown  thine  for  't.     That  sigh?  [Looks  again. 

Phil.     'Twill  make  many  a  man  sigh,  madam.     'Tis  a  mere  incendiary. 

Mel.  Take  my  gimp  petticoat  for  that  truth.  If  thou  hast  more  of 
these  phrases,  let  me  die  but  I  could  give  away  all  my  wardrobe,  and  go 
naked  for  'em. 

Phil.  Go  naked?  Then  you  would  be  a  Venus,  madam.  O  Jupiter! 
what  had  I  forgot?     This  paper  was  given  me  by  Rhodophil's  page. 

Mel.     lEeading  the  letter.]     Beg  the  favor  from  you. Gratify  my 

220  passion — so  far assignation — in  the  grotto — behind  the  terrace — clock 

this  evening. Well,  for  the  billets-doux  there's  no  man  in  Sicily  must 

dispute  with  Rhodophii ;   they  are  so  French,  so  gallant,  and  so  tcndre, 

180.     expenses]   QqF.     expense  SsM. 
186.      of  'em]  QlQliF.     of  thrm  Q8  SsM. 

190.     Figure :    as,  vhat  a  figure]  SsM.    QqF  have  italics  for  the  first  figure, 
but  not  for  the  second. 

196.      cnibarrassi'']   SsM.     omliarrasse  QqF. 
213.     7nany]  QqF.     Omitted  by  SsM. 


182  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

that  1  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  the  assignation.  Now  go  you 
away,  Philotis;  it  imports  me  to  practice  what  I  shall  say  to  my 
servant  when  I  meet  him,    [Exit  Philotis.] 

"Rhodophil,  you'll  wonder  at  my  assurance  to  meet  you  here; — let  me 
die,  I  am  so  out  of  breath  with  coming  that  I  can  render  you  no  reason 
of  it." — Then  he  will  make  this  repartee:  "Madam,  I  have  no  reason  to 
accuse  you  for  that  which  is  so  great  a  favor  to  me." — Then  I  reply: 
230  "But  why  have  you  drawn  me  to  this  solitary  place?  Let  me  die,  but  I 
am  apprehensive  of  some  violence  from  you." — Then  says  he:    "Solitude, 

madam,  is  most  fit  for  lovers;  but  by  this  fair  hand" "Nay,  now  I 

vow  you're  rude,  sir.  O  fie,  fie,  fie;  I  hope  you'll  be  honorable?" — 
"You'd  laugh  at  me  if  I  should,  madam." — "What  do  you  mean  to  throw 
me  down  thus?     Ah  me!  ah!  ah!  ah!" 

E7iter  PoLYDAMAs,  Leonidas,  and  Guards. 

O  Venus!    The  king  and  court.     Let  me  die,  but  I  fear  they  have 
found  my  foible,  and  will  turn  me  into  ridicule.  [Exit,  running. 

Leon.     Sir,  I  beseech  you. 

Foly.  Do  not  urge  my  patience. 

Leon.     I'll  not  deny, 
240  But  what  your  spies  inform'd  you  of  is  true: 
I  love  the  fair  Palmyra ;  but  I  lov'd  her 
Before  I  knew  your  title  to  my  blood. 

Enter  Palmyra,  guarded. 

See,  here  she  comes,  and  looks,  amidst  her  guards, 
Like  a  weak  dove  under  the  falcon's  gripe. 

0  heav'n,  I  cannot  bear  it. 

Foly.  Maid,  come  hither. 

Have  you  presum'd  so  far  as  to  receive 
My  son's  affection? 

Palm.     Alas,  what  shall  I  answer?     To  confess  it 
Will  raise  a  blush  upon  a  virgin's  face; 
250  Yet  I  was  ever  taught  'twas  base  to  lie. 

Poly.     You've  been  too  bold,  and  you  must  love  no  more. 

Palm.     Indeed  I  must;  I  cannot  help  my  love: 

1  was  so  tender  when  I  took  the  bent 
That  now  I  grow  that  way. 

Poly.     He  is  a  prince,  and  you  are  meanly  born. 

Leon.     Love  either  finds  equality,  or  makes  it: 
Like  death,  he  knows  no  difference  in  degrees. 
But  plains  and  levels  all. 

Palm.     Alas!    I  had  not  render'd  up  my  heart, 
260  Had  he  not  lov'd  me  first;  but  he  preferr'd  me 
Above  the  maidens  of  my  age  and  rank; — 
Still  shunn'd  their  company,  and  still  sought  mine. 
I  was  not  won  by  gifts,  yet  still  he  gave; 

224.     what  I  shall  say]  QqP.     what  to  say  SsM. 

235.     ah!  ah!  ah!]  QIP,  without  exclamation  points,     ha,  ha,  ha,  Q2Q3. 

247.     affection]  QqF.     affections  SsM. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  I  183 

And  all  his  gifts,  tho'  small,  yet  spoke  his  love. 
He  pick'd  the  earliest  strawberries  in  woods. 
The  cluster'd  filberds,  and  the  purple  grapes; 
He  taught  a  prating  stare  to  speak  my  name; 
And,  when  he  found  a  nest  of  nightingales, 
Or  callow  linnets,  he  would  show  'em  me, 
270  And  let  me  take  'em  out. 

Poly.     This  is  a  little  mistress,  meanly  born, 
Pit  only  for  a  prince  his  vacant  hours, 
And  then,  to  laugh  at  her  simplicity. 
Not  fix  a  passion  there.     Now  hear  my  sentence. 

Leon.     Remember,  ere  you  give  it,  'tis  pronounc'd 
Against  us  both. 

Foly.  First,  in  her  hand 

There  shall  be  plac'd  a  player's  painted  scepter, 
And,  on  her  head,  a  gilded  pageant  crown: 
Thus  shall  she  go, 
280  With  all  the  boys  attending  on  her  triumph; 
That  done,  be  put  alone  into  a  boat, 
With  bread  and  water  only  for  three  days; 
So  on  the  sea  she  shall  be  set  adrift, 
And  who  relieves  her,  dies. 

Palm.     1  only  beg  that  you  would  execute 
The  last  part  first.    Let  me  be  put  to  sea ; 
The  bread  and  water  for  my  three  days'  life 
I  give  you  back,  I  would  not  live  so  long; 
But  let  me  scape  the  shame. 

Leon.  Look  to  me,  piety; 

290  And  you,  O  gods,  look  to  my  piety! 

Keep  me  from  saying  that  which  misbecomes  a  son, 
But  let  me  die  before  I  see  this  done. 

Poly.     If  you  for  ever  will  abjure  her  sight, 
I  can  be  yet  a  father;  she  shall  live. 

Leon.     Hear,  O  you  pow'rs!    is  this  to  be  a  father? 
I  see  'tis  all  my  happiness  and  quiet 
You  aim  at,  sir;  and  take  'em: 
I  will  not  save  ev'n  my  Palmyra's  life 
At  that  ignoble  price;  but  I'll  die  with  her. 
300         Palm.     So  had  I  done  by  you, 

Had  fate  made  me  a  princess.     Death,  methinks, 

Is  not  a  terror  now : 

He  is  not  fierce,  or  grim,  but  fawns,  and  soothes  me. 

And  slides  along,  like  Cleopatra's  aspic, 

Off 'ring  his  service  to  my  troubled  breast. 

264.     spoke]  QqF.     spake  SsM. 
2G6.      ftlberils]   (JqF.     filberts  SsM. 

the  purple]  QIF.     Q2Q:i  omit  the. 
272.     prince  his]   QqF.     prince's  SsM. 
289,  290.     But  let    .    .    .    pit/.i/)  g(il"  SsM  arrange  as  follows: 

Palm.    But  let  me  scape  the  shame. 

Leon.    Look  to  iitc,  piety;   and  you,  0  gods,  look  to  my  piety. 


184  MAKRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Leon.     Begin  what  you  Lave  purpos'd  when  you  please; 
Lead  her  to  scorn,  your  triumph  shall  be  doubled. 
As  holy  priests 

In  pity  go  with  dying  malefactors, 
310  So  will  I  share  her  shame. 

Poly.     You  shall  not  have  your  will  so  much;  first  part  'em. 
Then  execute  your  office. 

Leon.  No;  I'll  die 

In  her  defense.  [Brans  his  sword. 

Palm.  Ah,  hold,  and  pull  not  on 

A  curse,  to  make  me  worthy  of  my  death : 
Do  not  by  lawless  force  oppose  your  father, 
Whom  you  have  too  much  disobey'd  for  me. 

Leon.     Here,  take  it,  sir,  and  with  it  pierce  my  heart : 

[Presenting  his  sword  to  his  father  upon  his  knees. 
You  have  done  more,  in  taking  my  Palmyra. 
You  are  my  father;  therefore  I  submit. 
320        Poly.     Keep  him  from  anything  he  may  design 
Against  his  life,  whilst  the  first  fury  lasts; 
And  now  perform  what  I  commanded  you. 

Leon.     In  vain;  if  sword  and  poison  be  denied  me, 
I'll  hold  my  breath  and  die. 

Palm.     Farewell,  my  lost  Leonidas;  yet  live, 
I  charge  you,  live,  till  you  believe  me  dead. 
I  cannot  die  in  peace,  if  you  die  first; 
If  life's  a  blessing,  you  shall  have  it  last. 

Poly.     Go  on  with  her,  and  lead  him  after  me. 

Enter  Argaleon  hastily,  with  Heemogenes. 

330         Arga.     I  bring  you,  sir,  such  news  as  must  amaze  you, 
And  such  as  will  prevent  you  from  an  action 
Which  would  have  render'd  all  your  life  unhappy. 

[Hermogenes  kneels. 

Poly.     Hermogenes,  you  bend  your  knees  in  vain; 
My  doom's  already  past. 

Her.     I  kneel  not  for  Palmyra,  for  I  know 
She  will  not  need  my  pray'rs;  but  for  myself: 
With  a  feign'd  tale  I  have  abus'd  your  ears, 
And,  therefore,  merit  death;  but  since,  unforc'd, 
I  first  accuse  myself,  I  hope  your  mercy. 

Poly.     Haste  to  explain  your  meaning. 

Her.     Then,  in  few  words,  Palmyra  is  your  daughter. 

Poly.     How  can  I  give  belief  to  this  impostor? 
He  who  has  once  abus'd  me  often  may. 
I'll  hear  no  more. 

Arga.  For  your  own  sake,  you  must. 


340 


310.  icill  I]  QqF.     I  viU  SsM. 

321.  whilst]  QqF.     while  SsM. 

325.  lost]  SsM.     last  QqF,  probably  a  misprint. 

.S43.  has  once]  Q1Q2F.     once  has  Q3. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  I  185 

Her.     A  parent's  love,  for  I  confess  my  crime, 
Mov'd  me  to  say  Loonidas  was  yours; 
But,  when  1  heard  Palmyra  was  to  die. 
The  fear  of  guiltless  blood  so  stung  my  conscience, 
That  I  resolv'd,  ev"n  with  my  shame,  to  save 
350  Your  daughter's  life. 

roly.     But  how  can  I  be  certain,  but  that  interest, 
Which  mov'd  you  firet  to  say  your  sou  was  mine, 
Does  not  now  move  you  too,  to  save  your  daughter? 

Her.     You  had  but  then  my  word;   I  bring  you  now 
Authentic  testimonies.     Sir,  in  short, 

[Delivers  on  his  knees  a  jewel,  and  a  letter. 
If  this  will  not  convince  you,  lot  me  suffer. 

PoJy.     I  know  this  jewel  well;   'twas  once  my  mother's, 

\  Looking  first  on  the  jewel. 
Which,  marrying,  1  presented  to  my  wife. 
And  this,  O  this  is  my  Eudocia's  hand. 
360  I  Reads.]      This  was  the  pledge  of  love  given  to  Eudocia, 
H  ho,  dying,  to  her  young  Palmyra  leaves  it; 
And  this,  when  you,  my  dearest  lord,  receive, 
Own  her,  and  think  on  me,  dying  Eudocia. 

Take  it;   "tis  well  there  is  no  more  to  read.  [2'o  Arga. 

My  eyes  grow  full,  and  swim  in  their  own  light.       [He  embraces  Palm. 

Palm.     I   fear,  sir,  this  is  your  intended  pageant. 
You  sport  yourself  at  poor  Palmyra's  cost; 
But  if  you  tl'ink  to  make  me  proud. 
Indeed  1  cannot  be  so.   1  was  born 
370  With  humble  thoughts,  and  lowly,  like  my  birth. 
A  real  fortune  could  not  make  me  haughty, 
Much  less  a  feign'd. 

Poly.  This  was  her  mother's  temper. 

I  have  too  much  deserv'd  thou  shouldst  suspect 
That  I  am  not  thy  father;   but  my  love 
Shall  henceforth  show  I  am.     Behold  my  eyes, 
And  see  a  father  there  begin  to  flow : 
This  is  not  feign'd,  Palmyra. 

Palm.     I  doubt  no  longer,  sir;  you  are  a  king, 
And  cannot  lie:   falsehood's  a  vice  too  base 
380  To  find  a  room  in  any  royal  breast. 
I  know,  in  spite  of  my  unworthiness, 
I  am  your  child ;   for  when  you  would  have  kill'd  me, 
Methought  I  lov'd  you  then. 

Arga.     Sir,  we  forget  the  Prince  Leonidas; 
His  greatness  should  not  stand  neglected  thus. 

Poly.     Guards,  you  may  now  retire.     Give  him  his  sword. 
And  leave  him  free. 

Leon.     Then  the  first  use  I  make  of  liberty 

.355.      (stage  direction),    land  a  letter)   QqF.     SsM  omit  a. 
.'{57.      this  jeirel]   Q1B\     the  jewel  Q2U3. 
384.     forget]  QIF.     forgot  Q-JQ.".. 


186  MAEEIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Shall  be,  with  your  permission,  mighty  sir, 
390  To  pay  that  reverence  to  which  nature  binds  me. 

[Kneels  to  Hermogenes. 

Arga.     Sure  you  forget  your  birth,  thus  to  misplace 
This  act  of  your  obedience;   you  should  kneel 
To  nothing  but  to  heav'n,  and  to  a  king. 

Leon.     I  never  shall  forget  what  nature  owes, 
Nor  be  asham'd  to  pay  it;  tho'  my  father 
Be  not  a  king,  I  know  him  brave  and  honest, 
And  well  deserving  of  a  worthier  son. 

Poly.     He  bears  it  gallantly. 

Leo7i.     Why  would  you  not  instruct  me,  sir,  before,  [To  Her. 

400  Where  I  should  place  my  duty? 

From  which  if  ignorance  have  made  me  swerve, 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  an  erring  son. 

Palm.     I  almost  grieve  I  am  a  princess,  since 
It  makes  him  lose  a  crown. 

Leon.     And  next,  to  you,  my  king,  thus  low  I  kneel, 
T'  implore  your  mercy;  if  in  that  small  time 
I  had  the  honor  to  be  thought  your  son 
I  paid  not  strict  obedience  to  your  will, 
I  thought,  indeed,  I  should  not  be  eompell'd, 
410  But  thought  it  as  your  son ;  so,  what  I  took 
In  duty  from  you,  I  restor'd  in  courage; 
Because  your  son  should  not  be  forc'd. 

Poly.     You  have  my  pardon  for  it. 

Leon.     To  you,  fair  princess,  I  congratulate 
Your  birth;   of  which  I  ever  thought  you  worthy: 
And  give  me  leave  to  add,  that  I  am  proud 
The  gods  have  pick'd  me  out  to  be  the  man 
By  whose  dejected  fate  yours  is  to  rise; 
Because  no  man  could  more  desire  your  fortune, 
420  Or  franklier  part  with  his,  to  make  you  great. 

Palm.     I  know  the  king,  tho'  you  are  not  his  son, 
Will  still  regard  you  as  my  foster  brother, 
And  so  conduct  you  downward  from  a  throne. 
By  slow  degrees,  so  unperceiv'd  and  soft. 
That  it  may  seem  no  fall:    or,  if  it  be. 
May  fortune  lay  a  bed  of  down  beneath  you! 

Poly.     He  shall  be  rank'd  with  my  nobility. 
And  kept  from  scorn  by  a  large  pension  giv"n  him. 

Leon.     You  are  all  great  and  royal  in  your  gifts;  [Boicing. 

430  But  at  the  donor's  feet  I  lay  'em  down: 
Should  I  take  riches  from  you,  it  would  seem 
As  I  did  want  a  soul  to  bear  that  poverty 
To  which  the  gods  design'd  my  humble  birth; 
And,  should  I  take  your  honors  without  merit, 
It  would  appear  I  wanted  manly  courage 
To  hope  'em,  in  your  service,  from  my  sword. 

Poly.     Still  brave,  and  like  yourself. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  187 

The  court  shall  shine  this  night  in  its  full  splendor, 

And  celebrate  this  new  discovery. 
140  Ai'galeon,  lead  my  daughter.     As  we  go, 

I  shall  have  time  to  give  her  my  commands. 

In  which  you  are  concern'd,  [Exeunt  all  but  Leonidas. 

Leon.     Methinks,  I  do  not  want 

That  huge  long  train  of  fawning  followers, 

That  swept  a  furlong  after  me. 

'Tis  true  I  am  alone; 

So  was  the  Godhead,  ere  he  made  the  world. 

And  better  serv'd  himself,  then  serv'd  by  nature. 

And  yet  I  have  a  soul 
450  Above  this  humble  fate.     I  could  command, 

Love  to  do  good,  give  largely  to  true  merit, 

All  that  a  king  should  do;  but,  tho'  these  are  not 

My  province,  I  have  scene  enough  within, 

To  exercise  my  virtue. 

All  that  a  heart  so  fix  *d  as  mine  can  move. 

Is  that  my  niggard  fortune  starves  my  love.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II 

Palamede  and  Doralice  meet:  she,  with  a  hook  in  her  hand,  seems  to 

start  at  sight  of  him. 

Dor.  'Tis  a  strange  thing  that  no  warning  will  serve  your  turn,  and 
that  no  retirement  will  secure  nie  from  your  impertinent  addresses!  Did 
not  I  tell  you  that  I  was  to  be  private  here  at  my  devotions? 

Pala.  Yes;  and  you  see  I  have  observ'd  my  cue  exactly:  I  am  come 
to  relieve  you  from  them.  Come,  shut  up,  shut  up  your  book;  the  man's 
come  who  is  to  supply  all  your  necessities. 

Dor.  Then,  it  seems,  you  are  so  impudent  to  think  it  was  an 
assignation?  This,  I  warrant,  was  your  lewd  interpretation  of  my 
innocent  meaning. 
10  Pala.  Venus  forbid  that  I  should  harbor  so  unreasonable  a  thought 
of  a  fair  young  lady,  that  you  should  lead  me  hither  into  temptation.  I 
confess,  I  might  think  indeed  it  was  a  kind  of  honorable  challenge,  to 
meet  privately  without  seconds,  and  decide  the  difference  betwixt  the 
two  sexes;  but  heaven  forgive  me,  if  I  thought  amiss. 

Dor.  You  thought  too,  I'll  lay  my  life  on  't,  that  you  might  as  well 
make  love  to  me,  as  my  husband  does  to  your  mistress. 

Fala.     I  was  so  unreasonable  to  think  so  too. 

Dor.     And  then  you  wickedly  infcrr'd  that  there  was  some  justice  in 

the  revenge  of  it;   or,  at  least,  but  little  injury  for  a  man  to  endeavor 

20  to  enjoy  that  which  he  accounts  a  blessing,  and  which  is  not  valued  as  it 

ought    by   the   dull   possessor.      Confess   your   wickedness;    did   you    not 

think  so? 


4.'):{.      scene  \QIF.     xcrn  Q2Q:?. 

(scene  headinci)    fat  siKht]    QqF.      [at  the  sight]    SsM. 

2(».      accounts]   QqF.     cutiuts  SsM. 


188  MAERIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Pala.  I  confess  I  was  thinking  so,  as  fast  as  I  could;  but  you  think 
so  much  before  me,  that  you  will  let  me  think  nothing. 

Dor.  'Tis  the  very  thing  that  I  design'd ;  I  have  forestall'd  all  your 
arguments,  and  left  you  without  a  word  more,  to  plead  for  mercy.     If 

you  have  anything  farther  to  offer,  ere  sentence  pass Poor  animal,  I 

brought  you  hither  only  for  my  diversion. 

Pala.  That  you  may  have,  if  you'll  make  use  of  me  the  right  way; 
30  but  I  tell  thee,  vvoman,  I  am  now  past  talking. 

Dor.  But  it  may  be  I  came  hither  to  hear  what  fine  things  you  could 
say  for  yourself. 

Pala.  You  would  be  very  angry,  to  my  knowledge,  if  I  should  lose 
so  much  lime  to  say  many  of  'om.— By  this  hand  you  would! 

Dor.     Fie,  Palamede,  I  am  a  woman  of  honor. 

PaJa.  I  see  you  are;  you  have  kept  touch  with  your  assignation: 
and,  before  we  part,  you  shall  find  that  I  am  a  man  of  honor. — Yet  I 
have  one  scruple  of  conscience 

Dor.  I  warrant  you  Avill  not  want  some  naughty  argument  or  other, 
40  to  satisfy  yourself. — I  hope  you  are  afraid  of  betraying  your  friend? 

Pala.  Of  betraying  my  friend!  I  am  more  afraid  of  being  betray'd 
by  you  tu  my  friend.  You  women  now  are  got  into  the  way  of  telling 
first  yourselves:  a  man  who  has  any  care  of  his  reputation  will  be  loth 
to  trust  it  with  you. 

Dor.  O,  you  charge  your  faults  upon  our  sex!  You  men  are  like 
cocks;  you  never  make  love,  but  you  clap  your  wings,  and  crow  when 
you  have  done. 

Pala.     Nay,  rather  you  women  are  like  hens;  you  never  lay  but  you 

cackle  an  hour  after,  to  discover  your  nest. — But  I'll  venture  it  for  once. 

50        Dor.     To  convince  you  that  you  are  in  the  wrong,  I'll  retire  into  the 

dark  grotto  to  my  devotion,  and  make  so  little  noise  that  it  shall  be 

impossible  for  you  to  find  me. 

Pala.     But  if  I  find  you 

Dor.  Aye,  if  you  find  me. — But  I'll  put  you  to  search  in  more 
corners  then  you  imagine.  [She  runs  in,  and  he  after  her. 

Enter  Rhodophil  and  Melantha. 

Mel.  Let  me  die,  but  this  solitude,  and  that  grotto,  are  scandalous; 
I'll  go  no  further;  besides,  you  have  a  sweet  lady  of  your  own. 

Eho.     But  a  sweet  mistress,  now  and  then,  makes  my  sweet  lady  so 
much  more  sweet. 
60        Mel.     1  hope  you  will  not  force  me? 

Sho.     But  I  will,  if  you  desire  it. 

Pala.  [Within.]  Where  the  de%il  are  you,  madam?  'Sdeath,  I  begin 
to  be  weary  of  this  hide  and  seek.  If  you  stay  a  little  longer,  till  the 
fit's  over,  I'll  hide  in  my  turn,  and  put  you  to  the  finding  me.  [He 
enters,  and  sees  Rhodophil  aiid  Melantha.]  How!  Rhodophil  and  my 
mistress ! 

Mel.     My  servant  to  apprehend  me!     This  is  stirprenant  au  dernier. 

Eho.     I  must  on;  there's  nothing  but  impudence  can  help  me  out. 


64.     linding  me]  QIF.     finding  of  me  Q2Q3. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  189 

Pala.     Rhodopbil,  how  came  you  hither  in  so  good  company? 
70        Kho.     As  you  sec,  Palamede;   an  effect   of  pure   friendship;    I  was 
not  able  to  live  without  you. 

Pala.     But  what  makes  my  mistress  with  you? 

liho.     Why,  I  heard  you  were  here  alone,  and  could  not  in  civility 
but  bring  her  to  you. 

Mel.     You'll  pardon  the  effects  of  a  passion  which  I  may  now  avow 
for  you,  if  it  transported  me  beyond  the  rules  of  hienscance. 

Pala.     But  who  told  you  I  was  here?     They  that  told  you  that  may 
tell  you  more,  for  aught  I  know. 

Eho.     O,  for  that  matter,  we  had  intelligence. 
80        Pala.     But  let  me  tell  you,  we  came  hither  so  very  privately  that  you 
could  not  trace  us. 

liho.     Us!    What  us?     You  are  alone. 

Pala.     Us!    The  devil's  in  me  for  mistaking — me,  I  meant.     Or  us, 
that  is,  you  are  me,  or  I  you,  as  we  are  friends:  that's  us. 

Dor.     Palamede,   Palamede!  [Within. 

Eho.     I  should  know  that  voice;   who's  within  there,  that  calls  you? 

Pala.     Faith,  I  can't  imagine;  I  believe  the  place  is  haunted. 

Dor.     Palamede,  Palamede,   all  cocks  hidden.  [Within. 

Pala.  Lord,  Lord,  what  shall  I  do?  Well,  dear  friend,  to  let  you 
90  see  I  scorn  to  be  jealous,  and  that  I  dare  trust  my  mistress  with  you, 
take  her  back,  for  I  would  not  willingly  have  her  frighted,  and  I  am 
resolv'd  to  see  who's  there;  I'll  not  be  daunted  with  a  bugbear,  that's 
certain. — Prethee  dispute  it  not,  it  shall  be  so;  nay,  do  not  put  me  to 
swear,  but  go  quickly.     There's  an  effect  of  pure  friendship  for  you  now. 

Enter  Doralice,  and  lools  amaz'd,  seeing  them. 

Eho.     Doralice!    I  am  thunderstruck  to  see  you  here. 

Pala.  So  am  I;  quite  thunderstruck!  Was  it  you  that  call'd  me 
within?     (I  must  be  impudent.) 

Eho.     How  came  you  hither,  spouse? 

Pala.     Aye,  how  came  you  hither?     And,  which  is  more,  how  could 
100  you  be  here  without  my  knowledge? 

Dor.  [To  her  husband.]  O,  gentleman,  have  I  caught  you  i'  faith! 
Have  I  broke  forth  in  ambush  upon  you !  I  thought  my  suspicions  would 
prove  true. 

Eho.  Suspicions!  this  is  very  fine,  spouse!  Prethee,  what  sus- 
picions? 

Dor.  O,  you  feign  ignorance.  Why,  of  you  and  Melantha;  here  have 
I  stay'd  these  two  hours,  waiting  with  all  the  rage  of  a  passionate,  loving 
wife,  but  infinitely  jealous,  to  take  you  two  in  the  manner;  for  hither  I 
was  certain  you  would  come. 
110  Eho.  But  you  are  mistaken,  spouse,  in  the  occasion;  for  we  came 
hither  on  purpose  to  find  Palamede,  on  intelligence  he  was  gone  before. 


80.     very]  Q1Q2F.     Q.3  omits. 
87.      the  plarr]   Q1Q2F.     Ihat  plncr  Q.!. 

94.      effect  of  pure  friendship  for  you  now]   Ql.     QCQ."}  omit  now.     F  omits 
for  you.     SsM  read  effort  for  effect. 
107.     these]  Q1Q2K.     this  Q3. 
111.     on  purpose]  Q1Q2F  ;    on  the  purpose  Q3. 


190  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Fala.  I'll  be  hang'd  then,  if  the  same  party  who  gave  you  intelli- 
gence I  was  here  did  not  tell  your  wife  you  would  come  hither.  Now  I 
smell  the  malice  on  't  on  both  sides. 

Dor.  Was  it  so,  think  you?  Nay,  then,  I'll  confess  my  part  of  the 
malice  too.  As  soon  as  ever  I  spied  my  husband  and  Melantha  come 
together,  I  had  a  strange  temptation  to  make  him  jealous  in  revenge; 
and  that  made  me  call  "Palamede,  Palamede!"  as  tho'  there  had  been  an 
intrigue  between  us. 
120  Mel.  Nay,  I  avow,  there  was  an  apparence  of  an  intrigue  between 
us  too. 

Pala.     To  see  how  things  will  come  about! 

Bho.     And  was  it  only  thus,  my  dear  Doralice?  [Embraces. 

Dor.     And  did  I  wrong  n'own  Rhodophil  with  a  false  suspicion? 

[Embracing  him. 

Pala.  [Aside.]  Now  am  I  confident  we  had  all  four  the  same  design. 
'Tis  a  pretty  odd  kind  of  game  this,  where  each  of  us  plays  for  double 
stakes:  this  is  just  thrust  and  parry  with  the  same  motion;  I  am  to  get 
his  wife,  and  yet  to  guard  my  own  mistress.  But  I  am  vilely  suspicious 
that,  while  I  conquer  in  the  right  wing,  I  shall  be  routed  in  the  left ;  for 
130  both  our  women  will  certainly  betray  their  party,  because  they  are  each 
of  them  for  gaining  of  two,  as  well  as  we ;  and  I  much  fear, 

If  their  necessities  and  ours  were  known. 

They  have  more  need  of  two,  then  we  of  one. 

[Exeunt,  embracing  one  another. 

ACT  IV.     SCENE  I. 
Enter  Leonidas,   musing;   Amalthea,  following   him. 

Amal.     Yonder  he  is;  and  I  must  speak,  or  die; 
And  yet  'tis  death  to  speak:  yet  he  must  know 
I  have  a  passion  for  him,  and  may  know  it 
"With  a  less  blush;  because  to  offer  it 
To  his  low  fortunes,  shows  I  lov'd  before 
His  person,  not  his  greatness. 

Leon.     First  scorn'd,  and  now  commanded  from  the  court! 
The  king  is  good;  but  he  is  wrought  to  this 
By  proud  Argaleon's  malice. 
10  What  more  disgrace  can  love  and  fortune  join 
T'  inflict  upon  one  man?     I  cannot  now 
Behold  my  dear  Palmyra:   she,  perhaps,  too. 
Is  grown  asham'd  of  a  mean  ill-plac'd  love. 

Amal.  [Aside.]    Assist  me,  Venus,  for  I  tremble  when 
I  am  to  speak,  but  I  must  force  myself. 

[To  him.]  Sir,  I  would  crave  but  one  short  minute  with  you, 
And  some  few  words. 

Leon.   [Aside.]      The  proud  Argaleon's  sister! 

120.     avow]  QIF.    vow  Q2Q3. 

apparence]  Ql.     appearance  Q2Q3F  SsM. 

123.  [Embraces]   QqF.     [Embrace]    SsM. 

124.  n'oicn]  SsM.     none  QqF. 

125.  am  I]  QIF.    /  am  Q2Q3  SsM. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  191 

Amal.  [Aside]  Alas!   it  will  not  out;  sliamc  stops  my  mouth. 
[To  him.]    Pardon  my  error,  sir;  I  was  mistaken, 
20  And  took  you  for  another. 

Leon.  [Aside.]    In  spite  of  all  his  guards,  I'll  see  Palmyra; 
Tho'  meanly  born,  I  have  a  kingly  soul  yet. 

Amal.  [Aside.]    I  stand  upon  a  precipice,  where  fain 
I  would  retire,  but  love  still  thrusts  me  on: 
Now  I  grow  bolder,  and  will  speak  to  him. 
[To  him.]  Sir,  'tis  indeed  to  you  that  I  would  speak, 
And  if 

Leon.     O,  you  are  sent  to  scorn  my  fortunes: 
Your  sex  and  beauty  are  your  privilege; 

But  should  your  brother 

30         Amal.     Now  he  looks  angry,  and  I  dare  not  speak. 
I  had  some  business  with  you,  sir, 
But  'tis  not  worth  your  knowledge. 

Leon.     Then  'twill  be  charity  to  let  me  mourn 
My  griefs  alone,  for  I  am  much  disorder'd. 

Amal.     'Twill  be  more  charity  to  mourn  'em  with  you: 
Heav'n  knows  I  pity  you. 

Leo7i.  Your  pity,  madam, 

Is  generous,  but  'tis  unavailable. 

Amal.     You  know  not  till  'tis  tried. 
Your  sorrows  are  no  secret;  you  have  lost 
40  A  crown,  and  mistress. 

Leon.  Are  not  these  enough? 

Hang  two  such  weights  on  any  other  soul. 
And  see  if  it  can  bear  'em. 

Amal.     More;  you  are  banish'd,  by  my  brother's  means, 
And  ne'er  must  hope  again  to  see  your  princess ^ 
Except  as  pris'ners  view  fair  walks  and  streets. 
And  careless  passengers  going  by  their  grates, 
To  make  'em  feel  the  want  of  liberty. 
But,  worse  then  all, 

The  king  this  morning  has  injoin'd  his  daughter 
50  T'  accept  my  brother's  love. 

Leon.  Is  this  your  pity? 

You  aggravate  my  griefs,  and  print  'em  deeper, 
In  new  and  heavier  stamps. 

Amal.     'Tis  as  physicians  show  the  desperate  ill, 
T'  indear  their  art  by  mitigating  pains 
They  cannot  wholly  cure.     When  you  despair 
Of  all  you  wish,  some  part  of  it,  because 
Unhop'd  for,  may  be  grateful;  and  some  other 

Leon.     What  other? 

Amal.  Some  other  may 

[Aside.]  My  shame  again  has  sciz'd  me,  and  I  can  go 


19.      [To  him.]     Not  in  QqF  SsM. 

22.     vet]  QqF.     SsM  omit. 

56.     you  wish]  Q1Q2F.     ^ou^■  wish  Q3. 


192  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

60  No  farther. 

Leon.     These  often  failing  sighs  and  interruptions 
Make  me  imagine  you  have  grief  like  mine: 
Have  you  ne'er  lov'd? 

Amul.  1?  never!     [Aside]   'Tis  in  vain: 

I  must  despair  in  silence. 

Leon.     You  come  as  I  suspected,  then,  to  mock, 
At  least  observe  my  griefs.     Take  it  not  ill 
That  I  must  leave  you.  [7s  going. 

Amal.     You  must  not  go  with  these  unjust  opinions. 
Command  my  life  and  fortunes:  you  are  wise; 
70  Think,  and  think  well,  what  I  can  do  to  serve  you. 

Leon.     I  have  but  one  thing  in  my  thoughts  and  wishes: 
If,  by  your  means,  I  can  obtain  the  sight 
Of  my  ador'd  Palmyra;  or,  what's  harder, 

One  minute's  time,  to  tell  her  I  die  hers —  [She  starts  bach. 

I  see  I  am  not  to  expect  it  from  you; 
Nor  could,  indeed,  with  reason. 

Amal.     Name  any  other  thing!     Is  Amalthea 
So  despicable,  she  can  serve  your  wishes 
In  this  alone? 

Leon.  If  I  should  ask  of  heav'n, 

80  I  have  no  other  suit. 

Amal.     To  show  you,  then,  I  can  deny  you  nothing, 
Tho'  'tis  more  hard  to  me  then  any  other, 
Yet  I  will  do  't  for  you. 

Leon.     Name  quickly,  name  the  means!  speak,  my  good  angel! 

Amal.     Be  not  so  much  o'erjoy'd;   for,  if  you  are, 
I'll  rather  die  then  do  't.     This  night  the  court 
Will  be  in  masquerade: 
You  shall  attend  on  me;  in  that  disguise 
You  may  both  see  and  speak  to  her, 
90  If  you  dare  venture  it. 

Leon.     Yes;  were  a  god  her  guardian. 
And  bore  in  each  hand  thunder,  I  would  venture. 

Anmh     Farewell,  then;  two  hours  hence  I  will  expect  you: 
My  heart's  so  full  that  I  can  stay  no  longer.  [Exit. 

Leon.     Already  it  grows  dusky:   I'll  prepare 
With  haste  for  my  disguise.     But  who  are  these? 

Enter  Hermcgenes   and  Eubulus. 

"Her.     'Tis  he;  we  need  not  fear  to  speak  to  him. 
Euh.     Lconidas. 

Leon.  Sure  I  have  known  that  voice. 

Her.     You  have  some  reason,  sir:   'tis  Eubulus, 
100  Who  bred  you  with  the  princess;  and,  departing, 
Bequeath'd  you  to  my  care. 


61.     failing  sighs]  QIF.     failings,  sighs  Q2Q3. 

87.     masquerade]     Italics  in  Qq  ;  no  italics  in  F  SsM. 

98.     Leonidas.]   QqF.     Leonidas?  SsM. 


ACT  TV,  SCENE  I  193 

Leon.     My  foster  father!  let  my  knees  express 
My  joys  for  your  returu!  [Kneeling. 

Eub.     Else,  sir;  you  must  not  kneel. 

Leon.  E'er  since  you  left  me, 

I  have  been  wand'ring  in  a  maze  of  fate, 
Led  by  false  fires  of  a  fantastic  glory, 
And  the  vain  luster  of  imagin'd  crowns. 
But,  all !  why  would  you  leave  me  ?  or  how  could  you 
Absent  yourself  so  long? 
110        Eub.     I'll  give  you  a  most  just  account  of  both: 
And  something  more  I  have  to  tell  you,  wliich 
1  know  must  cause  your  wonder;  but  this  place, 
Tho'  almost  hid  in  darkness,  is  not  safe. 

Already  I  discern  some  coming  towards  us  [Torches  appear. 

"With  lights,  who  may  discover  me.     Hermogenes, 
Your  lodgings  are  hard  by,  and  much  more  private. 

Her.     There  you  may  freely  speak. 

Leon.  Let  us  make  haste; 

For  some  affairs,  and  of  no  small  importance. 
Call  me  another  way.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Palamede  and  Ehodophil,  with  Vizor-Masks  in  their  Hands,  and 

Torches  before  'em. 

220  Pala.  We  shall  have  noble  sport  to-night,  Rhodophil;  this  masque- 
rading is  a  most  glorious  invention. 

Eho.  1  believe  it  was  invented  first  by  some  jealous  lover,  to  discover 
the  haunts  of  his  jilting  mistress;  or,  perhaps,  by  some  distress'd  servant, 
to  gain  an  opportunity  with  a  jealous  man's  wife. 

Pala.  No,  it  must  be  the  invention  of  a  woman,  it  has  so  much  of 
subtilty  and  love  in  it. 

Eho.  I  am  sure  'tis  extremely  pleasant;  for  to  go  unknown  is  the 
next  degree  to  going  invisible. 

Pala.  What  with  our  antique  habits  and  feign'd  voices:  "Do  you 
130  know-  me?"  and,  "I  know  you,"  methinks  we  move  and  talk  just  like  so 
many  overgrown  puppets. 

Mho.  Masquerade  is  only  vizor-mask  improv'd ;  a  height'ning  of  the 
same  fashion. 

Pala.  No,  masquerade  is  vizor-mask  in  debauch,  and  I  like  it  the 
better  for  't:  for,  with  a  vizor-mask,  we  fool  ourselves  into  courtship, 
for  the  sake  of  an  eye  that  glanc'd,  or  a  hand  that  stole  itself  out  of  the 
glove  sometimes,  to  give  us  a  sample  of  the  skin;  but  in  masquerade 
there  is  nothing  to  be  known,  she's  all  terra  incognita;  and  the  bold  dis- 
coverer leaps  ashore,  and  takes  his  lot  among  the  wild  Indians  and  sal- 

112.      Arnoir]    QIF.     now  Q2Q?.. 

(Enter  I'ala.mkde.  Ptc. ]  Here  SsM  insert  Scene  II.  But  the  mention  of 
torches  just  above  shows  that  the  action  is  continuous.  QqF.  though  they 
number  the  scenes  of  this  plav,  here  make  no  division. 

12S.     noino  invisible]  QIF.  jo  invinihlc  Q2Q."?. 

120.  uilh  our  antique]  QnF\  except  that  Qo  reads  tcithout  by  an  obvious 
misprint,      tvith  our  antic  SsM. 


194  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

140  vages,    without   the   vile   consideration   of    safety   to    his   person,   or    of 
beauty  or  wholesomeness  in  his  mistress. 

Enter  Beliza. 

Eho.     Beliza,  what  make  you  here? 

Bel.  Sir,  my  lady  sent  me  after  you,  to  let  you  know  she  finds  her- 
self a  little  iudispos'd;  so  that  she  cannot  be  at  court,  but  is  retir'd  to 
rest  in  her  own  apartment,  where  she  shall  want  the  happiness  of  your 
dear  embraces  to-night. 

£ho.  A  very  fine  phrase,  Beliza,  to  let  me  know  my  wife  desires  to 
lie  alone. 

Fala.     I  doubt,  Rhodophil,  you  take  the  pains  sometimes  to  instruct 
150  your  wife's  woman  in  these  elegancies. 

Eho.  Tell  my  dear  lady,  that  since  I  must  be  so  unhappy  as  not  to 
wait  on  her  to-night,  I  will  lament  bitterly  for  her  absence.  'Tis  true 
I  shall  be  at  court,  but  I  will  take  no  divertisement  there;  and  when  I 
return  to  my  solitary  bed,  if  I  am  so  forgetful  of  my  passion  as  to  sleep, 
I  will  dream  of  her;  and,  betwixt  sleep  and  waking,  put  out  my  foot 
towards  her  side,  for  midnight  consolation;  and,  not  finding  her,  I  will 
sigh,  and  imagine  myself  a  most  desolate  widower. 

Bel.     I  shall  do  your  commands,  sir.  [Exit. 

Eho.  [Aside.]  She's  sick  as  aptly  for  my  purpose,  as  if  she  had  con- 
160  triv'd  it  so.  Well,  if  ever  woman  was  a  help-meet  for  man,  my  spouse  is 
so;  for  within  this  hour  I  receiv'd  a  note  from  Melantha,  that  she  would 
meet  me  this  evening  in  masquerade,  in  boy's  habit,  to  rejoice  with  me 
before  she  enter'd  into  fetters;  for  I  find  she  loves  me  better  then 
Palamede  only  because  he's  to  be  her  husband.  There's  something  of 
antipathy  in  the  word  marriage  to  the  nature  of  love:  marriage  is  the 
mere  ladle  of  affection,  that  cools  it  when  'tis  never  so  fiercely  boiling 
over. 

Pala.     Dear  Rhodophil,  I  must  needs  beg  your  pardon ;   there  is  an 
occasion  fall'n  out  vvhich  I  had  forgot:  I  cannot  be  at  court  to-night. 
170        Eho.     Dear  Palamede,  I  am  sorry  we  shall  not  have  one  course  to- 
gether at  the  herd ;   but  I  find  your  game  lies  single :   good  fortune  to 
you  with  your  mistress.  [Exit. 

Pala.  He  has  wish'd  me  good  fortune  with  his  wife;  there's  no  sin  in 
this  then,  there's  fair  leave  given.  Well,  I  must  go  visit  the  sick;  I  can- 
not resist  the  temptations  of  my  charity.  0  what  a  difference  will  she 
find  betwixt  a  dull  resty  husband,  and  a  quick  vigorous  lover!  He  sets 
out  like  a  carrier's  horse,  plodding  on,  because  he  knows  he  must,  with 
the  bells  of  matrimony  chiming  so  melancholy  about  his  neck,  in  pain 
till  he's  at  his  journey's  end;  and,  despairing  to  get  thither,  he  is  fain 
180  to  fortify  imagination  with  the  thoughts  of  another  woman:  I  take  heat 
after  heat,  like  a  well-breath'd  courser,  and — But  hark,  what  noise  is 
that?  Swords!  [Clashing  of  swords  within.]  Nay,  then,  have  with 
you.  [Exit  Pala. 


1.50.     icoiiwn]  Q1Q2F.     women  Q3. 

160.     a  help-meet]  Qq.     F  omits  a.     a  help-mate  SsM. 
ior  man]   Q1Q2F.     for  a  man  Q3. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  195 

Reenter  Palamede,  icitli  Ehodophil;    and  Doralice  in 

marl's  habit. 

Bho.  Friend,  your  relief  was  very  timely;  otherwise  I  had  teen 
oppress'd. 

Pala.    What  was  the  quarrel? 

EJio.     What  I  did  was  in  rescue  of  tliis  youth. 

Pala.     What  cause  could  he  give  'em  ? 

Dor.     The  cause  was  notliiug  but  only  the  common  cause  of  fighting 
90  in  masquerades :  they  were  drunk,  and  I  was  sober. 

Eho.     Have  they  not  hurt  you? 

Dor.     No;  but  I  am  exceeding  ill  with  the  fright  on  't. 

Pala.    Let's  lead  him  to  some  place  where  he  may  refresh  himself. 

Eho.     Do  you  conduct  him  then. 

Pala.  [Aside.]  How  cross  this  happens  to  my  design  of  going  to 
Doralice;  for  I  am  confident  she  was  sick  on  purpose  that  I  should  visit 
her!  Hark  you,  Ehodophil,  could  not  you  take  care  of  the  stripling?  1 
am  partly  engag'd  to-night. 

Bho.     You  know  I  have  business;  but  come,  youth,  if  it  must  be  so. 
100         Dor.  [To  Rho.]     No,  good  sir,  do  not  give  yourself  that  trouble;   I 
shall  be  safer  and  better  picas'd  with  your  friend  here. 

Eho.     Farewell,  then ;  once  more  I  wish  you  a  good  adventure. 

Pala.  Damn  this  kindness!  Now  must  I  be  troubled  with  this 
young  rogue,  and  miss  my  opportunity  with  Doralice. 

[Exit  Eho.  alone;  Pala.  with  Dor. 

SCENE  IT 

Enter  Polydamas. 

Poly.     Argaleon  counsel'd  well  to  banish  him; 
He  has  I  know  not  what 

Of  greatness  in  his  looks,  and  of  high  fate, 
That  almost  awes  me;  but  I  fear  my  daughter, 
Who  hourly  moves  me  for  him ;  and  I  mark'd, 
She  sigh'd  when  I  but  nam'd  Argaleon  to  her. 
But  see,  the  maskers:  hence,  my  cares,  this  night! 
At  least  take  truce,  and  find  me  on  my  pillow. 

Enter  the  Princess  in  masquerade,  tvith  Ladies.  At  the  other 
end,  Argaleon  and  Gentlemen  in  masquerade ;  tlicn  Leox- 
IDAS  leading  Amalthea.  The  King  sits.  A  Dance.  After 
the  Dance. 

Amah  [To  Leon.]     That's  the  princess; 
10  I  saw  the  habit  ere  she  put  it  on. 

Leon.     I  know  her  by  a  thousand  other  signs; 


184.  very]    QqF.     Omitted  bv  Ss;M. 

190.  and  1]   QqF.     as  I  SsM. 

197.  the]  Q1Q2F.     this  Q3. 

3.  of  high]  Q1Q2F.     high  of  Q:i. 


196  MAKRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

She  cannot  hide  so  much  divinity: 

Disguis'd,  and  silent,  yet  some  graceful  motion 

Breaks  from  her,  and  shines  round  her  like  a  glory.       [Goes  to  Palmyra 

Amal.     Thus  she  reveals  herself,  and  knows  it  not: 
Like  love's  dark  lantern,  I  direct  his  &teps, 
And  yet  he  sees  not  that  which  gives  him  light. 

Palm,  [To  Leon.]     I  know  you;  but,  alas,  Leonidas, 
Why  should  you  tempt  this  danger  on  yourself? 
20         Leon.     Madam,  you  know  me  not,  if  you  believe 
I  would  not  hazard  greater  for  your  sake. 
But  you,  I  fear,  are  chang'd. 

Palm.  No,  I  am  still  the  same; 

But  there  are  many  things  became  Palmyra 
Which  ill  become  the  princess. 

Leon.  I  ask  nothing 

Which  honor  will  not  give  you  leave  to  grant : 
One  hour's  short  audience,  at  my  father's  house, 
You  cannot  sure  refuse  me. 

Palm.    Perhaps  I  should,  did  I  consult  strict  virtue; 
But  something  must  be  given  to  love  and  you. 
30  When  would  you  I  should  come? 

Leon.    This  evening,  with  the  speediest  opportunity. 
I  have  a  secret  to  discover  to  you. 
Which  will  surprise  and  please  you. 

Palm.  'Tis  enough. 

Go  now;  for  we  may  be  observ'd  and  known. 
I  trust  your  honor;  give  me  not  occasion 
To  blame  myself,  or  you. 

Leon.     You  never  shall  repent  your  good  opinion. 

[Kisses  her  hand,  and  Exit, 

Arga.     I  cannot  be  deceiv'd;  that  is  the  princess: 
One  of  her  maids  betray'd  the  habit  to  me. 
40  But  who  was  he  with  whom  she  held  discourse? 
'Tis  one  she  favors,  for  he  kiss'd  her  hand. 
Our  shapes  are  like,  our  habits  near  the  same; 
She  may  mistake,  and  speak  to  me  for  him. 
I  am  resolv  'd ;  I  '11  satisfy  my  doubts, 
Tho'  to  be  more  tormented. 


SONG 

I. 

Whilst  Alexis  lay  press' d 

In  her  arms  he  lov'd  best, 
With  his  hands  round  her  neck,  and  his  head  on  her  breast, 
"Ee  found  the  fierce  pleasure  too  hasty  to  stay, 
50  And  his  soul  in  the  tempest  just  flying  away. 


19.     tJiis'i     Q1Q2F.     the  Q3. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  III  197 

II. 

When  Ccclia  saw  this, 

With  a  sigh  and  a  kiss, 

She  cried:     "0  my  dear,  I  am  robb'd  of  my  bliss! 

'Tis  unkind  to  your  love,  and  unfaithfully  done, 

To  leave  me  behind  you,  and  die  all  alone." 

III. 

The  youth,  the'  in  haste, 
A7id  breathing  his  last. 

In  pity  died  slowly,  while  she  died  more  fast; 
Till  at  length  she  cried:     "Now,  my  dear,  now  let  us  go; 
60  Now  die,  my  Alexis,  and  I  will  die  too!" 

IV. 

Thus  intranc'd  they  did  lie, 

Till  Alexis  did  try 

To  recover  new  breath,  that  again  he  might  die: 

Then  often  they  died;  but  the  more  they  did  so. 

The  nymph  died  more  quick,  and  the  shepherd  more  slow. 

Another  Dance.     After  it,  Argaleon  reenters,  and 
stands  by  the  Princess. 

Palm.  \To  Arga.]     Leonidas,  what  means  this  quick  return? 

Arga.     O  heav'n!  'tis  what  I  fear'd. 

Palm.     Is  aught  of  moment  happen'd  since  you  went? 

Arga.     No,  maJam;  but  I  understood  not  fully 
70  Your  last  commands. 

Palm.  And  yet  you  answer'd  to  'em. 

Retire;  you  are  too  indiscreet  a  lover: 
I'll  meet  you  where  I  promis'd.  [Exit. 

Arga.    O  my  curst  fortune!     What  have  I  discover'd! 
But  I  will  be  revcng'd.  [Whispers  to  the  King. 

Poly.     But  arc  you  certain  you  are  not  deceiv'd? 

Arga.     Upon  my  life. 

Poly.  Her   honor  is  concern'd. 

Somewhat  I'll   do;   but  I  am  yet  distracted, 
And  know  not  where  to  fix.     I  wish'd  a  child, 
And  heav'n,  in  anger,  granted  my  request. 
80  So  blind  we  are,  our  wishes  are  so  vain, 

That  what  we  most  desire  proves  most  our  pain.  [Exeu7it  omnes. 

SCENE  III 

An  Eating-house.     Bottles  of  Wine  on   the  tabic.     Palamede, 
and  DORALICE  in  Man's  Habit. 

Dor.   [Aside.]      Now  cannot   I  find  in  my  heart  to  discover  myself, 
tho'  1  long  he  should  know  nio. 


6G.      [To  Abga.]     Omitted  In  Q3. 


198  MAEEIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Pala.  I  toll  thee,  boy,  now  I  have  seen  thee  safe,  I  must  be  gone: 
I  have  no  leisure  to  throw  away  on  thy  raw  conversation;  I  am  a  person 
that  understand  batter  things,  I. 

Dor.  Were  I  a  woman,  O  how  you'd  admire  me ;  cry  up  every  word 
I  said,  and  screw  your  face  into  a  submissive  smile;  as  I  have  seen 
a  dull  gallant  act  wit,  and  counterfeit  pleasantness,  when  he  whispers 
to  a  great  person  in  a  playhouse;  smile,  and  look  briskly,  when  the  other 
10  answers,  as  if  something  of  extraordinary  had  pass'd  betwixt  'em,  when, 
heaven  knows,  there  was  nothing  else  but:  "What  a  clock  does  your 
lordship  think  it  is?''  And  my  lord's  repertee  is:  " 'Tis  almost  park- 
time:"  or,  at  most:  "Shall  we  out  of  the  pit,  and  go  behind  the  scenes 
for  an  act  or  two?'  And  yet  such  fine  things  as  these  would  be  wit  in  a 
mistress's  mouth. 

Pala.  Aye,  boy;  there's  dame  Nature  in  the  ease:  he  who  cannot 
find  wit  in  a  mistress  deserves  to  find  nothing  else,  boy.  But  these  are 
riddles  to  thee,  child,  and  I  have  not  leisure  to  instruct  thee ;  I  have  af- 
fairs to  dispatch,  great  affairs;  I  am  a  man  of  business. 
20  Dor.  Come,  you  shall  not  go:  you  have  no  affairs  but  what  you 
may  dispatch  here,  to  my  knowledge. 

Pala.  I  find  now,  thou  art  a  boy  of  more  understanding  then  I 
thought  thee;  a  very  lewd  wicked  boy.  O'  my  conscience,  thou  wouldst 
debauch  me,  and  hast  some  evil  designs  upon  my  person. 

Dor.  You  are  mista'Kcn,  sir;  I  would  only  have  you  show  me  a  more 
lawful  reason  why  you  would  leave  me,  then  I  can  why  you  should  not, 
and  I  '11  not  stay  you ;  for  I  am  not  so  young  but  I  understand  the 
necessities  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  the  pressing  occasions  of  mankind,  as 
well  as  you. 
30  Pala.  A  very  forward  and  understanding  boy!  Thou  art  in  great 
danger  of  a  page's  wit,  to  be  brisk  at  fourteen,  and  dull  at  twenty.  But 
I'll  give  thee  no  further  account;   I  must,  and  will  go. 

Dor.     My  life  on  't,  your  mistress  is  not  at  home. 

Pala.  This  imp  will  make  me  very  angry. — I  tell  thee,  young  sir, 
she  is  at  homo,  and  at  home  for  me;  and,  which  is  more,  she  is  abed  for 
me,  and  sick  for  me. 

Dor.     For  you  only? 

Pala.     Aye,  for  me  only. 

Dor.     But  how  do  you  know  she's  sick  abed? 
40         Pala.     She  sent  her  husband  word  so. 

Dor.  And  are  you  such  a  novice  in  love,  to  believe  a  wife's  message 
to  her  husband? 

Pala.     Why,  what  the  devil  should  be  her  meaning  else? 

Dor.  It  may  be,  to  go  in  masquerade,  as  well  as  you;  to  observe  your 
haunts,  and  keep  you  company  without  your  knowledge. 

Pala.  Nay,  I  '11  trust  her  for  that.  She  loves  me  too  well  to  disguise 
herself  from  me. 

Dor.  If  I  were  she,  I  would  disguise  on  purpose  to  try  your  wit; 
and  come  to  my  servant  like  a  riddle:     "Eead  me,  and  take  me." 

fi.     understand]  QqF.     vnderifnnda  SsM. 
16.      there's  dame  Xatiire]  QqF.     there  dame  Xature's  SsM. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  Til  199 

50  Pala.  I  could  know  her  in  any  shape.  My  good  genius  would 
prompt  me  to  find  out  a  handsome  woman:  there's  something  in  her  that 
woiiM  attract  me  to  her  without  my  knowledge. 

Dor.     Then  you  make  a  loadstone  of  your  mistress? 

Pala.  Yes,  and  I  carry  steel  about  me  which  has  been  so  often 
touch'd  that  it  never  fails  to  point  to  the  north  pole. 

Dor.  Yet  still  my  mind  gives  me  that  you  have  met  her  disguis'd 
to-night,  and  have  not  known  her. 

Pala.  This  is  the  most  pragmatical  conceited  little  fellow;  he  will 
needs  understand  my  business  better  then  myself.  I  tell  thee,  once  more, 
60  thou  dost  not  know  my  mistress. 

Dor.     And  I  tell  you  once  more,  that  I  know  her  better  then  you  do. 

Pala.  The  boy's  resolv'd  to  have  the  last  word.  I  find  I  must  go 
without  reply.  [Exit. 

Dor.  Ah  mischief,  I  have  lost  him  with  my  fooling.  Palamede, 
Palamede! 

ne  returns.     She  plucks  off  her  peruke,  and  puts  it  on  again 

when  he  knows  her. 
Pala.     O  heavens!     Is  it  you,  madam? 

Dor.  Now,  where  was  your  good  genius,  that  would  prompt  you  to 
find  me  out? 

Pala.     Why,  you  see  I  was  not  decciv'd ;  you  yourself  were  my  good 
70  genius. 

Dor.     But  where  was  the  steel  that  kncAV  the  loadstone?     Ha? 
Pala.     The  truth  is,  madam,  the  steel  has  lost  its  virtue:  and,  there- 
fore, if  you  please,  we'll  new  touch  it. 

Enter  Ehodophil,  and  Melantha  in  Boy's  habit.    Ehodophil 
sees  Palamede  kissing  Doralice's  Itand. 

Eho.  Palamede  again!  Am  I  fall'n  into  your  quarters?  What? 
Ingaging  with  a  boy?     Is  all  honorable? 

Pala.  O,  very  honorable  on  my  side.  I  was  just  chastising  this 
young  villain;  he  was  running  away  without  paying  his  share  of  the 
reckoning. 

Bho.     Then  I  find  I  was  dceeiv'd  in  him. 
80         Pala.     Yes,  you  are  decciv'd  in  him ;   'tis  the  archest  rogue,  if  you 
did  but  know  him. 

Mel.  Good  Ehodophil,  let  us  get  off  a  la  derobee,  for  fear  I  should 
be  discover'd. 

Bho.  There's  no  retiring  now;  I  warrant  you  for  discovery.  Now 
have  I  the  oddest  thought,  to  entertain  you  before  your  servant's  face, 
and  he  never  the  wiser;  "t  will  be  the  prettiest  juggling  trick,  to  cheat 
him  when  he  looks  upon  us. 

Mel.     This  is  the  strangest  caprice  in  you. 

Pala.    [To  DORALICE.]      This   Ehodophil   's   the   unluckiest   fellow   to 

ni.  in  ho]  QqF.     Omitted  in  SsM. 

.^4.  carry  stall   QUi^F.     carry  a  steel  Q.i. 

72.  has]  Qll'\     hath  Q2Q:!. 

88.  caprico)  Q(iK  have  italics,  wliich  ari'  omitted  in  SsM. 


200  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

90  me!     This  is  now  the  second  time  he  has  barr'd  the  dice  when  we  were 
just  ready  to  have  nick'd  him;   but  if  ever  I  get  the  box  again — 

Dor.    Do  you  think  he  will  not  know  me?    Am  I  like  myself? 

Pala.     No  more  then  a  picture  in  the  hangings. 

Dor.  Nay,  then  he  can  never  discover  me,  now  the  wrong  side  of  the 
arras  is  turn'd  towards  him. 

Pala.  At  least,  't  will  be  some  pleasure  to  me  to  enjoy  what  free- 
dom I  can  while  he  looks  on;  I  will  storm  the  outworks  of  matrimony 
even  before  his   face. 

Eho.     What  wine  have  you  there,  Palamede? 
100         Pala.     Old  Chios,  or  the  rogue  's  damn'd  that  drew  it. 

Eho.  Come — to  the  most  constant  of  mistresses!  That,  I  believe,  is 
yours,  Palamede. 

Dor.  Pray  spare  your  seconds;  for  my  part  I  am  but  a  weak 
brother. 

Pala.  Now,  to  the  truest  of  turtles!  That  is  your  wife,  Rhodophil, 
that  lies  sick  at  home  in  the  bed  of  honor. 

Eho.     Now  let  's  have  one  common  health,  and  so  have  done. 

Dor.    Then,  for  once,  I"ll  begin  it.     Hero's  to  him  that  has  the  fairest 
lady  of  Sicily  in  masquerade  to-night! 
110         Pala.     This  is  suc-h  an  obliging  health,  I'll  kiss  thee,  dear  rogue,  for 
thy  invention.  [Kisses  her. 

Eho.  He,  who  has  tliis  lady,  is  a  happy  man,  without  dispute. 
[Aside.]     I'm  most  concern'd  in  this,   I  am  sure. 

Pala.     Was  it   not   well   found  out,   Rhodophil? 

Mel.     Aye,  this  was  bien  trouve  indeed. 

Dor.  [To  Melantha.]  I  suppose  I  shall  do  you  a  kindness,  to  en- 
quire if  you  have  not  been  in  France,  sir? 

Mel.     To  do  you  service,  sir. 

Dor.     O,  monsieur,  vot  valet  bien  humble.  [Saluting  her. 

120        Mel.     Voire  esclave,  monsieur,  de  tout   mon  cceur. 

[Eeturning  the  salute. 

Dor.  I  suppose,  sweet  sir,  you  are  the  hope  and  joy  of  some  thriving 
citizen,  who  has  pinch'd  himself  at  home,  to  breed  you  abroad,  where 
you  have  learnt  your  exercises,  as  it  appears,  most  awkwardly,  and  are 
return'd,  with  the  addition  of  a  new-lae'd  bosom  and  a  clap,  to  your  good 
old  father,  who  looks  at  you  with  his  mouth,  while  you  spout  French 
with  your  man  monsieur. 

Pala.     Let  me  kiss  thee  again  for  that,  dear  rogue. 

Mel.  And  you,  I  imagine,  are  my  young  master,  whom  your  mother 
durst  not  trust  upon  salt  water,  but  left  you  to  be  your  own  tutor  at 
180  fourteen,  to  be  very  brisk  and  cntreprenant,  to  endeavor  to  be  de- 
bauch'd  ere  you  have  learnt  the  knack  on  't,  to  value  yourself  upon  a 
clap  before  you  can  get  it,  and  to  make  it  the  height  of  your  ambition 
to  get  a  player  for  your  mistress. 


110,   120.     vot    .    .    .    Votr&l   QqF.     votre    .    .    .    votre  SsM. 
126.     man   monsieur]    Q1Q2F   SsM ;     Q1Q2F   print   both   words    in    italics ; 
SsM.  neither  of  them,     mon  monsieur  Q3,  with  both  words  in  italics. 
i:n.     on't]  QqP.     of  it  SsM. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  III  201 

Hho.  [Embracing  Melantha.]  O  dear  young  bully,  thou  hast  tickled 
him  uith  a  reperiee,  i'   faith. 

Mel.  You  are  one  of  those  that  applaud  our  country  plays,  where 
drums,  and  trumpets,  and  blood,  and  wounds,  are  wit. 

Eho.     Again,  my  boy?     Let  me  kiss  thee  most  abundantly. 

Dor.     You   are  an  admirer   of   the   dull   French   poetry,   which  is  so 

140  thin  that  it  is  the  very  leaf-gold  of  wit,  the  very  wafers  and  whipp'd 

cream  of  sense,  for  which  a  man  opens  his  mouth  and  gapes,  to  swallow 

nothing.     And  to  be  an  admirer  of  such  profound  dulness,  one  must  be 

endow'd  with  a  great  perfection  of  impudence  and  ignorance. 

Pala.     Let   me  embrace   thee  most   vehemently. 

Mel.     I'll  sacrifice  my  life  for  French  poetry.  [Advancing. 

Dor.     I'll  die  upon  the  spot  for  our  country  wit. 

Hho.  [To  Melantha.]  Hold,  hold,  young  Mars!  Palamede,  draw 
back  your  hero. 

Paid.  'Tis  time;  I  shall  be  drawn  in  for  a  second  else  at  the  wrong 
150  weapon. 

Mel.     O  that  I  were  a  man,  for  thy  sake! 

Dor.     You'll  be  a  man  as  soon  as  I  shall. 

Enter  a  Messenger  to  Ehodophil. 
Mess.     Sir,  the  king  has  instant  business  with  you. 
I  saw  the  guard  drawn  up  by  your  lieutenant. 
Before  the  palace  gate,  ready  to  march. 

Eho.     'Tis  somewhat  sudden;  say  that  I  am  coming. 

[Exit  Messenger. 
Now,  Palamede,  what  think  you  of  this  sport? 
This  is  some  sudden  tumult;  will  you  along? 

Pala.  Yes,  yes,  I  will  go ;  but  the  devil  take  me  if  ever  I  was  less 
160  in  humor.  Why  the  pox  could  they  not  have  stay'd  their  tumult  till  to- 
morrow ?  Then  I  had  done  my  business,  and  beer  ready  for  'em.  Truth 
is,  I  had  a  little  transitory  crime  to  have  committed  first;  and  I  am  the 
worst  man  in  the  world  at  repenting,  till  a  sin  be  throughly  done.  But 
what  shall  we  do  with  the  two  boys? 

Eho.    Let  them  take  a  lodging  in  the  house,  till  the  business  be  over. 
Dor.     What,  lie  with  a  boy?     For  my  part,  I  own  it,  I  cannot  endure 
to  lie  with  a  boy. 

Pala.     The   more  's  my  sorrow,   I  cannot   accommodate  you  with   a 
better  bedfellow. 
170        Mel.    Let  me  die,  if  I  enter  into  a  pair  of  sheets  with  him  that  hates 
the  French. 

Dor.  Pish,  take  no  care  for  us,  but  leave  us  in  the  streets.  I  war- 
rant you,  as  late  as  it  is,  I'll  find  my  lodging  as  well  as  any  drunken 
bully  of  "em  all. 

Eho.  [Aside.]     I'll  fight  in  more  revenge,  and  wreak  my  passion 
On  all  that  spoil  this   hopeful   assignation. 
Pala.     I'm  sure  we  fight  in  a  good  quarrel: 
Rogues  may  pretend  religion,  and  the  laws; 
But  a  kind  mistress  is  tiie  Good  Old  Cause.  [Exeunt. 

16.">.      Let  Ihcm]  QIF.     Let 'rm  t22Q:i. 

17!)      Good  Old  Cause]     Italics  in  (JqF,  not  in  SsM. 


202  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

SCENE  IV 

[In  the  house  of  Hermogenes.] 
Enter  Palmyra,  Eubulus,  Hermogenes. 

Palm.     You  tell  me  wonders;   that  Leonidas 
Is  Prince  Theagenes,  the  late  king's  son. 

Eub.     It  seem'd  as  strange  to  him,  as  now  to  you, 
Before  I  had  convinc'd  him ;  but,  besides 
His  great  resemblance  to  the  king  his  father, 
The  queen  his  mother  lives,  secur'd  by  me 
In  a  religious  house,  to  whom,  each  year, 
I  brought  the  news  of  his  increasing  virtues. 
My  last  long  absence  from  you  both  was  caus'd 
10  By  wounds,  which  in  my  journey  I  receiv'd. 
When  set  upon  by  thieves;  I  lost  those  jewels. 
And  letters  which  your  dying  mother  left. 

Eerm.     The  same  he  means,  which  since,  brought  to  the  king, 
Made  him  first  know  he  had  a  child  alive: 
'Twas  then  my  care  of  Prince  Leonidas 
Caus'd  me  to  say  he  was  the  usurper's  son; 
Till  after,  forc'd  by  your  apparent  danger, 
I  made  the  true  discovery  of  your  birth. 
And  once  more  hid  my  prince's. 

Enter  Leonidas. 

20        Leon.     Hermogenes,  and  Eubulus,  retire; 

Those  of  our  party  whom  I  left  without 

Expect  your  aid  and  counsel.  [Exeunt  amho. 

Palm.     I  should,  Leonidas,  congratulate 

This  happy  change  of  your  exalted  fate; 

But,  as  my  joy,  so  you  my  wonder  move. 

Your  looks  have  more  of  business  then  of  love; 

And  your  last  words  some  great  design  did  show. 
Leon.     I  frame  not  any  to  be  hid  from  you. 

You,  in  my  love,  all  my  designs  may  see; 
30  But  what  have  love  and  you  design'd  for  me? 

Fortune,  once  more,  has  set  the  balance  right; 

First,  equal'd  us  in  lowness;  then,  in  height. 

Both  of  us  have  so  long,  like  gamesters,  thrown, 

Till  fate  comes  round,  and  gives  to  each  his  own. 

As  fate  is  equal,  so  may  love  appear: 


[ScKXE  I VI  QqF  Ss^vr  do  not  indicate  the  place  of  this  scone.  But  Leonidas 
has  obtained  from  I'almyra  (p.  196  1.  2(\)  an  audience  at  his  father's 
house,  which  she  is  now  granting  him.  The  mention  of  an  inner  room 
(p.  204  1.  115)   shows  that  we  are  no  longer  in  the  tcalks  near  the  court. 

14.      knoir  he]   QlQ2r.     knoir  thai  he  Q.3. 

21.      /]  QIF.     ue  Q2Q:;. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  IV  203 

Tell  me,  at  least,  what  I  must  hope,  or  fear. 

Falm.     After  so  many  proofs,  how  can  you  call 
My  love  in  doubt?     Fear  nothing,  and  hope  all. 
Think  what  a  prince,  with  honor,  may  receive, 
40  Or  I  may  give,  without  a  parent's  leave. 

Leon.     You  give,  and  then  restrain  the  grace  you  show- 
As  ostentatious  priests,  when  souls  they  woo,  ' 
Promise  their  heav'n  to  all,  but  grant  to  few. 
Bu*  do  for  me,  what  1  have  darVl  for  you. 
I  did  no  argument  from  duty  bring: 
Duty's  a  name,  and  love's  a  real  thing. 

Palm.     Man's  love  may,  like  wild  torrents,  overflow; 
Woman's  as  deep,  but  in  its  banks  must  go. 
My  love  is  mine,  and  that  I  can  impart; 
50  But  cannot  give  my  person  with  my  heart. 
Leon.     Your  love  is  then  no  gift: 
For,  when  the  person  it  does  not  convey, 
'Tis  to  give  gold,  and  not  to  give  the  key. 
Palm.     Then  ask  my  father. 
Leon.  He  detains  my  throne; 

Who  holds  back  mine,  will  hardly  give  his  own. 
Palm.     What  then  remains? 

Leon.  That  I  must  have  recourse 

To  arms,  and  take  my  love  and  crown  by  force. 
Hermogenes  is  forming  the  design; 
And  with  him  all  the  brave  and  loyal  join. 
60        Palm.     And  is  it  thus  you  court  Palmyra's  bed? 
Can  she  the  murd'rer  of  her  parent  wed? 
Desist  from  force:  so  much  you  well  may  give 
To  love,  and  me,  to  let  my  father  live. 

Leon.    Each  act  of  mine  my  love  to  you  has  shown; 
But  you,  who  tax  my  want  of  it,  have  none. 
You  bid  mc  part  with  you,  and  let  him  live; 
But  they  should  nothing  ask,  who  nothing  give. 

Palm.     I  give  what  virtue,  and  what  duty  can, 
In  vowing  ne'er  to  wed  another  man. 
70        Leon.     You  will  be  forc'd  to  be  Argaleon's  wife. 
Palm.    I'll  keep  my  promise,  tho'  I  lose  my  life. 
Leon.    Then  you  lose  love,  for  which  we  both  contend; 
For  life  is  but  the  means,  but  love  's  the  end. 
Palm.     Our  souls  shall  love  hereafter. 

■^^o"-  I  much  fear  ^ 

That  soul,  which  could  deny  the  body  here  K 

To  taste  of  love,  would  be  a  niggard  there.  J 

Palm.     Then  'tis  past  hope:  our  cruel  fate,  I  see, 
Will  make  a  sad  divorce  'twixt  you  and  me. 
For,  if  you  force  employ,  by  heav'n  I  swear, 
80  And  all  blest  beings, 

Leon.  Your  rash  oath  forbear. 

Palm.     I  never 


204  '  MARKtAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Leon.  Hold  once  more.    But  yet,  as  he 

Who  scapes  a  dang'rous  leap  looks  back  to  see; 
So  I  desire,  now  I  am  past  my  fear. 
To  know  what  was  that  oath  you  meant  to  swear. 

Palm.     I  meant,  that  if  you  hazarded  your  life, 
Or  sought  my  father's,  ne'er  to  be  your  wife. 

Leon.    See  now.  Palmyra,  how  unkind  you  prove! 
Could  you,  with  so  much  ease,  forswear  my  love? 

Palm.     You   force  me  with  your  ruinous   design. 
90         Leon.     Your  father's  life  is  more  your  care  then  mine. 

Palm.     You  wrong  me:  'tis  not,  tho'  it  ought  to  be; 
You  are  my  care,  heav'n  knows,  as  well  as  he. 

Leon.     If  now  the  execution  I  delay. 
My  honor,  and  my  subjects,  I  betray. 
All  is  prepar'd  for  the  just  enterprise; 
And  the  whole  city  will  to-morrow  rise. 
The  leaders  of  the  party  are  within,  "^ 

And  Eubulus  has  sworn  that  he  will  bring,       > 
To  head  their  arms,  the  person  of  their  king.  J 
100        Palm.     In  telling  this,  you  make  me  guilty  too; 
I  therefore  .nust  discover  what  I  know: 
What  honor  bids  you  do,  nature  bids  me  prevent; 
But  kill  me  first,  and  then  pursue  your  black  intent. 

Leon.     Palmyra,  no;  you  shall  not  need  to  die; 
Yet  I'll  not  trust  so  strict  a  piety. 
Within  there! 

Enter  Eubulus. 

Eubulus,  a  guard  prepare; 
Here,  I  commit  this  pris'ner  to  your  care. 

[Kisses  Palmyra's  hand,  then  gives  it  to  Eubulus. 
Palm.     Leonidas,  I  never  thought  these  bands 
Could  e'er  be  giv'n  me  by  a  lover's  hands. 
110        Leon.     Palmyra,  thus  your  judge  himself  arraigns;  [Kneeling. 

He,  who  impos'd  these  bonds,  still  wears  your  chains: 
When  you  to  love  or  duty  false  must  be, 
Or  to  your  father  guilty,  or  to  me, 

These  chains,  alone,  remain  to  set  you  free.     [Noise  of  swords  clashing. 
Poly.  [  Within.]     Secure  these,  first :  then  search  the  inner  room, 
Leo7i.     From  whence  do  these  tumultuous  clamors  come? 


Enter  Hermogenes,  hastily. 

Herm.     We  are  betray'd;  and  there  remains  alone 
This  comfort,  that  your  person  is  not  known. 


99.  their  king]  Q1Q2F.     the  king  Q3. 

100.  make  tne]  QqF.     7nay  be  SsM. 

105.  I'll]  QIF.     /  icill  Q2Q3. 

111.  bonds]  QIF.    hands  Q2Q3  SsM. 


ACT  V  205 

Enter  the  King,  Argaleon,  Rhodophil,  Palamede,  Guards; 
some,  like  citizens,  as  prisoners. 

Poly.     What  mean  these  midnight  consultations  here, 
120  Where  I  like  an  unsummon'd  guest  appear? 

Leon.     Sir 

Arga.  There  needs  no  excuse;   'tis  understood; 

You  were  all  watching  for  your  prince's  good. 

Poly.    My  reverend  city  friends,  you  are  well  met! 
On  what  great  work  were  your  grave  wisdoms  set? 
Which   of  my   actions   were  you   scanning  here? 
What  French  invasion  have  you  found  to  fear? 

Leon.     They  are  my  friends;  and  come,  sir,  with  intent 
To  take  their  leaves,  before  my  banishment. 

Poly.     Your  exile  in  both  sexes  friends  can  find; 
130  I  see  the  ladies,  like  the  men,  are  kind.  [Seeing  Palmyra. 

Palm.     Alas,  I  came  but [Kneeling. 

Poly.  Add  not  to  your  crime 

A  lie:     I'll  hear  you  speak  some  other  time. 
How?     Eubulus!     Nor  time,  nor  thy  disguise. 
Can  keep  thee  undiscover'd  from  my  eyes. 
A  guard  there!  seize  'em  all. 

£ho.     Yield,  sir;  what  use  of  valor  can  be  shown? 

Pala.     One,  and  unarm'd,  against  a  multitude? 

Leon.     O  for  a  sword! 

[He  reaches  at  one  of  the  Guards'  halberds,  and  is  seiz'd  behind. 
I  wonnot  lose  my  breath 
In  fruitless  pray'rs;   but  beg  a  speedy  death. 
140        Palm.     O  spare  Leonidas,  and  punish  me! 

Poly.     Mean  girl,  thou  want'st  an  advocate  for  thee. 
Now  the  mysterious  knot  will  be  untied ; 
Whether  the  young  king  lives,  or  where  he  died : 
To-morrow's  dawn  shall  the  dark  riddle  clear. 
Crown  aU  my  joys,  and  dissipate  my  fear.  [Exeunt  omnes. 


ACT  V 

Palamede,  Straton.    Palamede  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

Pala.     This  evening,  say'st  thou?     Will  they  both  be  here? 

Stra.  Yes,  sir,  both  my  old  master,  and  your  mistress's  father.  The 
old  gentlemen  ride  hard  this  journey;  they  say  it  shall  be  the  last  time 
they  will  see  the  town;  and  both  of  'em  are  so  pleas'd  with  this  mar- 
riage which  they  have  concluded  for  you,  that  I  am  afraid  they  will  live 
some  years  longer  to  trouble  you,  with  the  joy  of  it. 

Pala.     But  this  is  such  an  unreasonable   thing,  to   impose  upon  me 

110.      these]   F.     this  Qq.  l>v  an  ovidcnt  misprint. 
138.      ironnot]   SsM.     tc'iini  QIK.      trn'iit  Q1.>Q3. 
(SritAToN]  Q<\F.     ISritATd]   SsM. 
3.     gentlemen  ride]  QIF.     (jcntlcinan  rid  Q2Q3. 


206  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

to  be  married  to-morrow;  'tis  hurrying  a  man  to  execution  -without 
giving  him  time  to  say  his  pray'rs. 
10  Stra.  Yet,  if  I  might  advise  you,  sir,  you  should  not  delay  it;  for 
your  younger  brother  comes  up  with  'em,  and  is  got  already  into  their 
favors.  He  has  gain  'd  much  upon  my  old  master  by  finding  fault  with 
innkeepers'  bills,  and  by  starving  us,  and  our  horses,  to  show  his  frugal- 
ity; and  he  is  very  well  with  your  mistress's  father,  by  giving  him  re- 
ceipts for  the  spleen,  gout  and  scurvy,  and  other  infirmities  of  old  age. 

Pala.  I'll  rout  him  and  his  country  education.  Pox  on  him,  I  re- 
member him  before  I  travel'd:  he  had  nothing  in  him  but  mere  jockey; 
us'd  to  talk  loud,  and  make  matches,  and  was  all  for  the  crack  of  the 
field.  Sense  and  wit  were  as  much  banish'd  from  his  discourse,  as  they 
20  are  when  the  court  goes  out  of  town  to  a  horse  race.  Go  now  and  pro- 
vide your  master's  lodgings. 

Stra.     I  go,  sir.  [Exit. 

Pala.  It  vexes  me  to  the  heart,  to  leave  all  my  designs  with  Doralice 
unfinish'd;  to  have  flown  her  so  often  to  a  mark,  and  still  to  be  bobb'd 
at  retrieve.  If  I  had  but  once  enjoy'd  her,  tho'  I  could  not  have  satisfied 
my  stomach  with  the  feast,  at  least  I  should  have  relish'd  my  mouth  a 

little;  but  now 

Enter  Philotis. 

P7ji7.     O,  sir,  you  are  happily  met ;  I  was  coming  to  find  you. 

Pala.     From  your  lady,  I  hope. 
30        Phil.     Partly  from  her;   but  more  especially  from  myself.     She  has 
just  now  receiv'd  a  letter  from  her  father,  with  an  absolute  command 
to  dispose  herself  to  marry  you  to-morrow. 

Pala.    And  she  takes  it  to  the  death? 

Phil.  Quite  contrary.  The  letter  could  never  have  come  in  a  more 
lucky  minute;  for  it  found  her  in  an  ill  humor  with  a  rival  of  yours, 
that  shall  be  nameless,  about  the  pronounciation  of  a  French  word. 

Pala.  Count  Rhodophil?  never  disguise  it,  I  know  the  amour.  But 
I  hope  you  took  the  occasion  to  strike  in  for  me? 

Phil.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  do  you  some  small  service  in  it: 
40  for  your  sake  I  discommended  him  all  over, — clothes,  person,  humor,  be- 
havior, everything;  and,  to  sum  up  all,  told  her  it  was  impossible  to  find 
a  married  man  that  was  otherwise;  for  they  were  all  so  mortified  at 
home  with  their  wives'  ill  humors  that  they  could  never  recover  them- 
selves to  be  company  abroad. 

Pala.     Most  divinely  urg'd! 

Phil.  Then  I  took  occasion  to  commend  your  good  qualities ;  as  the 
sweetness  of  your  humor,  the  comeliness  of  your  person,  your  good  mien, 
your  valor;  but,  above  all,  your  liberality. 

Pala.     I  vow  to  Gad  I  had  like  to  have  forgot  that  good  quality  in 
50  myself,  if  thou  hadst  not  remember'd  me  on  "t.     Here  are  five  pieces  for 
thee. 

Phil.     Lord,  you  have  the  softest  hand,  sir!      It  would  do  a  woman 

14.  receipts^  QqF.     recipes  SsM. 

2.5.  Mt]  QqF.     Omitted  in  SsM. 

37.  amour]  Italics  in  QqF,  not  in  SsM. 

50.  on't]   QqF.     of  it  SsM. 


ACT  V  207 

good  to  touch  it:  Count  Rhodophirs  is  not  half  so  soft;  for  I  remember 
I  felt  it  once,  when  he  gave  me  ten  pieces  for  my  new-year's-gift. 

Pala.  O,  I  understand  you,  madam;  you  shall  find  my  hand  as  soft 
again  as  Count  RhodophiFs.  There  are  twenty  pieces  for  you.  The 
former  was  but  a  retaining  fee;  now  I  hope  you'll  plead  for  me. 

Phil.     Your  own  merits  speak  enough.     Be  sure  only  to  ply  her  with 

French  words,  and  I'll  warrant  you'll  do  your  business.     Here  are  a  list 

60  of  her  phrases  for  this  day:  use  'em  to  her  upon  all  occasions,  and  foil 

her  at  her  own  weapon;   for  she  's  like  one  of  the  old  Amazons, — she'll 

never  marry,  except  it  be  the  man  who  has  first  conquer'd  her. 

Pala.  I'll  be  sure  to  follow  your  advice;  but  you'll  forget  to  further 
my  design. 

Phil.  What,  do  you  think  111  be  ungrateful? — But,  however,  if  you 
distrust  my  memory,  put  some  token  on  my  finger  to  remember  it  by. 
That   diamond  there  would   do  ailmirably. 

Pala.  There  'tis;  and  I  ask  your  pardon  heartily  for  calling  your 
memory  into  question:  I  assure  you  I'll  trust  it  another  time,  without 
70  putting  you  to  the  trouble  of  another  token. 

Enter  Palmyra  and  Artemis. 
Art.     Madam,  this  way  the  prisoners  are  to  pass; 
Here  you  may  see  Leonidas. 

Palm.     Then  here  I'll  stay,  and  follow  him  to  death. 

Enter  ^Melaxtiia,  hastily. 

Mel.  O,  here  's  her  highness!  Now  is  my  time  to  introduce  myself, 
and  to  make  my  court  to  her  in  my  new  French  phrases.  Stay,  let  me 
read  my  catalogue — suite,  figure,  chagrin,  naivete,  and  ''let  me  die"  for 
the  parenthesis  of  all. 

Pala.  [Aside.^  Do,  persecute  her;  and  I'll  persecute  thee  as  fast  in 
thy  own  dialect. 
80  Mel.  Madam  the  princess!  Let  me  die,  but  this  is  a  most  horrid 
spectacle,  to  see  a  person  who  makes  so  grand  a  figure  in  the  court,  with- 
out the  suite  of  a  princess,  and  entertaining  your  chagrin  all  alone. — 
[Aside.]  Naivete  should  have  been  there,  but  the  disobetlient  word 
would  not  come  in. 

Palm.     What  is  she,  Artemis? 

Art.  An  impertinent  lady,  madam ;  very  ambitious  of  being  known 
to  your  highness. 

Pala.  [To  Melantha.]     Let  me  die,  madam,  if  I  have  not  waited  you 
here   these   two   long  hours,   without   so   much   as   the  suite   of   a  single 
90  servant  to  attend  me:   entertaining  myself  with  my  own  chagrin,  till  I 
had  the  honor  to  see  your  ladyship,  who  are  a  person  that  makes  so  con- 
siderable a  figure  in  the  court. 

Mel.  Truce  with  your  douceurs,  good  servant ;  you  see  I  am  address- 
ing to  the  princess;  pray  do  not  embarrass  me. — Embarrass  me!   what  a 

02.      the  iiinn]  Q1Q2F.     a  nidii  ()'■',. 

81,  92.     figure]  no  ital.  in  g^F  SsM.     So  on  n.  Ii08,  1.  108  ;  p.  216,  II.  465, 
46G,  467. 

8."?.      [Aside]  F.     Omitted  in  ()<{. 
91.      In  srr]   Q(\P.     of  sctinr/  Ss.M. 
94.     1o]  giQ2F.     Oniitti'd  in  (f,. 


208  MAERIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

delicious  French  wortl  do  you  make  me  lose  upon  you  too!  [To  the 
Princess.]  Your  highness,  madam,  uill  please  to  pardon  the  h6vue 
which  I  made,  in  not  sooner  finding  you  out  to  be  a  princess:  but  let 
me  die  if  this  eclaircissement,  which  is  made  this  day  of  your  quality 

does  not  ravish  me;  and  give  me  leave  to  tell  you 

100  Pala.  But  first  give  me  leave  to  tell  you,  madam,  that  I  have  so 
great  a  tender  for  your  person,  and  such  a  panchant  to  do  you  service, 
that 

Mel.  What,  must  I  still  be  troubled  with  your  sottises?  (There  's 
another  word  lost  that  I  meant  for  the  princess,  with  a  mischief  to  you!) 
But  your  highness,  madam 

Pala.     But  your  lactyship,  madam 


Enter  Leonidas,  guarded  and  led  over  the  stage. 

Mel.     Out  upon  him,  how  he  looks,  madam !      Now  he  's  found  no 
prince,  he  is  the  strangest  figure  of  a  man;  how  could  I  make  that  coup 
d'etourdi  to  think  him  one? 
110         Palm.     Away,  impertinent! — my  dear  Leonidas! 

Leon.     j\ty  dear  Palmyra! 

Palm.  Death  shall  never  part  us; 

My  destiny  is  yours.  [He  is  led  off,  she  follows. 

Mel.  Impertinent !  O,  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  person  this  day 
breathing:  that  the  princess  should  thus  rompre  en  visiere,  without  occa- 
sion.    Let  me  die,  but  I'll  follow  her  to  death,  till  I  make  my  peace. 

Pala.  [Holding  her.]  And  let  me  die,  but  I  '11  follow  you  to  the  in- 
fernals,  till  you  pity  me. 

Mel.  [Turning  ioicards  him  angrily.']     Aye,  'tis  long  of  you  that  this 
malheur  is   falln  upon   me;   your  impertinence  has  put   me   out   of  the 
120  good  graces  of  the  princess,  and  all  that,  which  has  ruin'd  me.  and  all 
that,  and  therefore  let  me  die,  but  I'll  be  reveng'd,  and  all  that. 

Pala.  Fagon,  fagon,  you  must  and  shall  love  me,  and  all  that;  for 
my  old  man  is  coming  up,  and  all  that;  and  I  am  dcsespcre  an  dernier, 
and  will  not  be  disinherited,  and  all  that. 

Mel.  How  durst  you  interrupt  me  so  mat  a  propos,  when  you  knew  I 
W'as  addressing  to  the  princess? 

Pala.  But  why  would  you  address  yourself  so  much  a  contretemps 
then? 

Mel.    Ah,  mal  peste! 
130        Pala.     Ah,  j' enrage! 

Phil.  Padoucissez  vous,  de  grace,  madame;  vous  etes  bien  en  colere 
pour  peu  de  chose.     Vous  n'entendez  pas  la  raillerie  galante. 

Mel.  A  d'auires,  a  d'autres:  he  mocks  himself  of  me,  he  abuses  me. 
Ah  me  unfortunate!  [Cries. 

Phil.  You  mistake  him,  madam,  he  does  but  accommodate  his  phrase 
to  your  refin'd  language.  Ah  qiCil  est  un  cavalier  accompli!  Pursue 
your  point,  sir [To  him. 

Pala.  Ah  qu'il  fait  beau  dans  ces  bocages;  [Singing.]  Ah  que  le 
del  donne  un  beau  jour!     There  I  was  with  you,  with  a  minouet. 


110-112.     Airni/ pourx^    QqF   arrango   as  vorso  :    SsM   print  as   prose. 

133.     A  d'autres]  SsM.     Ad'  autrcs  Qq.     Ad  autres  F. 


ACT  V  209 

140  Mel.  Let  me  die  now,  but  this  singing  is  fine,  and  extremely  French 
in  him.  [Laughs.^  But  then,  that  he  should  use  my  own  words,  as  it 
were  in  contempt  of  me,  I  cannot  bear  it.  [Crying. 

Pala.     Ces  beaux  sejours,  ccs  doux  ramages [Singing. 

Mel.  Ces  beaux  sejours,  ces  doux  ramages;  [Singing  after  him.] 
Ces  beaux  sejours  nous  invitent  a  Vamour!  Let  me  die,  but  he  sings 
en  cavalier,  and  so  humors  the  cadence!  [Laughing. 

Pala.  Vois,  ma  Climene,  vois  sous  ce  chene  [Singing  again.] 
S'  entrebaiser  ces  oiseaux  amoureux !  Let  me  die  now,  but  that  was  fine. 
Ah,  now,  for  three  or  four  brisk  Frenchmen,  to  be  put  into  masking 
150  habits,  and  to  sing  it  on  a  theater,  how  witty  it  would  be!  And  then 
to  dance  helter  skelter  to  a  chanson  a  boire :  Toute  la  terre,  toute  la 
terre  est  a  moil  What's  matter  tho'  it  were  made,  and  sung,  two  or 
three  years  ago  in  cabarets,  how  it  would  attract  the  admiration,  es- 
pecially of  every  one  that's  an  ^veille! 

Mel.  Well ;  I  begin  to  have  a  tender  for  you ;  but  yet,  upon  condi- 
tion, that — when  we  are  married,  you 

[Pal.  sings,  ichile  she  spealcs. 

Phil.  You  must  drown  her  voice:  if  she  makes  her  French  condi- 
tions, you  are  a  slave  for  ever. 

Mel.     First,  will  you  engage — that 

160        Pala.    Fa,  la,  la,  la,  &c.  [Louder. 

Mel.     Will  you  hear  the  conditions? 

Pala.  No;  I  will  hear  no  conditions!  T  am  resolv'd  to  win  you  en 
frangois:  to  be  very  airy,  with  abundance  of  noise,  and  no  sense.  Fa, 
la,  la,  la,  &c. 

Mel.  Hold,  hold;  I  am  vanquish'd  with  your  gaite  d'esprit.  I  am 
yours,  and  will  be  yours,  sans  nulle  reserve,  ni  condition.    And  let  me  die, 

if   1   do   not   think   myself   the   happiest   nymph   in   Sicily. My   dear 

French   dear,   stay   but   a   minuite,   till   I   raccommode  myself   with   the 

princess;  and  then  I  am  yours,  jusqu'd  la  mort.     Allons  done. 

[Exeufit  Mel.  Phil. 
170  Pala.  [Solus,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat.]  I  never  thought  before 
that  wooing  was  so  laborious  an  exercise ;  if  she  were  worth  a  million, 
I  have  deserv'd  her;  and  now,  methinks  too,  with  taking  all  this  pains 
for  her,  I  begin  to  like  her.  'Tis  so ;  I  have  known  many  who  never 
car'd  for  hare  nor  partridge,  but  those  they  caught  themselves  would 
cat  heartily:  the  pains,  and  the  story  a  man  tells  of  the  taking  of  'em, 
makes  the  meat  go  down  more  pleasantly.  Besides,  last  night  I  had  a 
sweet  dream  of  her,  and,  gad,  she  I  have  once  dream'd  of,  I  am  stark 
mad  till  I  enjoy  her,  let  her  be  never  so  ugly. 

Enter  Doralice. 

Dor.     Who  's  that  you  are  so  mad  to  enjoy,  Palamede? 
180         Pala.     You  may  easily  imagine  that,  sweet  Doralice. 

Dor.  More  easily  then  you  think  I  can.  I  met  just  now  with  a  cer- 
tain man  who  came  to  you  with  letters  from  a  certain  old   gentleman. 

l.'.n.      uiJI  ;/oi/l   QqF.     i/nu  will  SsM. 

10i>.      uiiuuiluj   UiiF,  with  italics,     minute  SsM,  with  italics. 


210  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

yclip'd  your  father;  ^vhereby  I  am  given  to  understand  that  to-morrow 
you  are  to  take  au  oath  in  the  church  to  be  grave  henceforward,  to  go 
ill-dress'd  and  slovenly,  to  get  heirs  for  your  estate,  and  to  dandle  'em 
for  your  diversion;  and,  in  short,  that  love  and  courtship  are  to  be  no 
more. 

Pala.  Now  have  I  so  much  shame  to  be  thus  apprehended  in  the 
manner,  that  I  can  neither  speak  nor  look  upon  you;  I  have  abundance 
190  of  grace  in  me,  that  I  find.  But  if  you  have  any  spark  of  true  friend- 
ship in  you,  retire  a  little  with  me  to  the  next  room  that  has  a  couch  or 
bed  in  't,  and  bestow  your  charity  upon  a  poor  dying  man!  A  little 
comfort  from  a  mistress,  before  a  man  is  going  to  give  himself  in  mar- 
riage, is  as  good  as  a  lusty  dose  of  strong-water  to  a  dying  male- 
factor: it  takes  away  the  sense  of  hell  and  hanging  from  him. 

Dor.  No,  good  Palamede,  I  must  not  be  so  injurious  to  your  bride. 
"Tis  ill  drawing  from  the  bank  to-day,  when  all  your  ready  money  is 
payable  to-morrow. 

Pala.     A  wife  is  only  to  have  the  ripe  fruit  that  falls  of  itself;  but 
200  a  wise  man  will  always  preserve  a  shaking  for  a  mistress. 

l)o>:     But  a   wife  for  the  first  quarter  is  a  mistress. 

Pala.     But  when  the  second  comes 

Dor.  When  it  does  come,  you  are  so  given  to  variety  that  you  would 
make  a  wife  of  me  in  another  quarter. 

Pala.  No,  never,  except  I  were  married  to  you :  married  people  can 
never  oblige  one  another;  for  all  they  do  is  duty,  and  consequently  there 
can  be  no  thanks.  But  love  is  more  frank  and  generous  then  he  is 
honest;  he  's  a  liberal  giver,  but  a  cursed  paymaster. 

Dor.     I  declare  I  will  have  no   gallant;   but,  if  I  would,  he   should 

210  never  be  a  married  man ;  a  married  man  is  but  a  mistress's  half-servant, 

as  a  clergyman  is  but  the  king's  half-subject.     For  a  man  to  come  to  me 

that  smells  o'  th'  wife!     'Slife,  I  would  as  soon  wear  her  old  gown  after 

her,  as  her  husband. 

Pala.  Yet  'tis  a  kind  of  fashion  to  wear  a  princess'  cast  shoes;  you 
see  the  country  ladies  buy  'em,  to  be  fine  in  them. 

Dor.  Yes,  a  princess'  shoes  may  be  worn  after  her,  because  they 
keep  their  fashion,  by  being  so  very  little  us'd;  but  generally  a  married 
man  is  the  creature  of  the  world  the  most  out  of  fashion:  his  behavior 
is  dumpish;  his  discourse,  his  wife  and  family;  his  habit  so  much  neg- 
220  lected,  it  looks  as  if  that  were  married  too;  his  hat  is  married,  his  peru'Ke 
is  married,  his  breeches  arc  married;  and,  if  we  could  look  within  his 
breeches,  we  should  find  him  married  there  too. 

Pala.  Am  I  then  to  be  discarded  for  ever?  Pray  do  but  mark  how 
terrible  that  word  sounds.  For  ever!  It  has  a  very  damn'd  sound, 
Doraliee. 

101.      a   little  irith   mr  to   the  7irxt  room    thnt  7ia.s]    QqF.      with  me  a   little 
into  the  next  room,  that  hath  SsM. 

192.  poor]  QqF.     Omitted  by  SsM. 

193.  in]  Q1Q2F.     into  Q3. 

212.     o'  th'  uife]  QqF.     of  the  wife  SsM. 

214,  216.     princess']  princess  Q1Q2.     princess's  Q."F  SsM, 

220.      if  that]   Q1Q2F.     if  it  Q.'i. 

224.     terrible]  QqF.     Omitted  by  SsM. 


ACT  V  211 

Dor.  Aye,  for  ever!  It  sounds  as  hellishly  to  nic,  as  it  can  do  to 
you,  but  there  's  no  help  for  't. 

Pala.  Yet,  if  we  had  but  once  enjoy'd  one  another !  But  then,  once 
only  is  worse  then  not  at  all :  it  leaves  a  man  with  such  a  ling'ring 
230  after  it. 

Dor.  For  aught  I  know,  'tis  better  that  we  have  not ;  we  might  upon 
trial  have  lik'd  each  other  less,  as  many  a  man  and  woman  that  have 
lov'd  as  desperately  as  we,  and  yet,  when  they  came  to  possession,  have 
sigh'd  anil  cried  to  themselves:    "Is  this  all?" 

Pala.  Tliat  is  only,  if  the  servant  were  not  found  a  man  of  this 
world;  but  if,  upon  trial,  we  had  not  lik'd  each  other,  we  had  certainly 
left  loving;   and   faith,  that's  the  greater  happiness  of  the  two. 

Dor.  'Tis  better  as  'tis;  we  have  drawn  off  already  as  much  of  our 
love  as  would  run  clear;  after  possessing,  the  rest  is  but  jealousies,  and 
240  disquiets,  and  quarreling  and  piecing. 

Fala.  Nay,  after  one  great  quarrel,  there's  never  any  sound  piecing; 
the  love  is  apt  to  break  in  the  same  place  again. 

Dor.  T  declare  I  would  never  renew  a  love;  that's  like  him  who 
trims  an  old  coach  for  ten  years  together;  he  might  buy  a  new  one  better 
cheap. 

Pala.  Well,  madam,  I  am  convinc'd,  that  'tis  best  for  us  not  to  have 
enjoy'd;  but  gad,  the  strongest  reason  is,  because  I  can't  help  it. 

Dor.  The  only  way  to  keep  us  new  to  one  another,  is  never  to  enjoy, 
as  they  keep  grapes,  by  hanging  'em  upon  a  line;  they  must  touch 
250  nothing,  if  you  would  preserve  'em  fresh. 

Pala.  But  then  they  wither,  and  grow  dry  in  the  very  keeping; 
however,  I  shall  have  a  warmth  for  you,  and  an  eagerness  every  time  I 
see  you;  and,  if  I  chance  to  outlive  Melantha 

Dor.     And  if  I  chance  to  outlive  Rhodophil 


Pala.  Well,  I'll  cherish  my  body  as  much  as  I  can,  upon  that  hope. 
'Tis  true,  I  would  not  directly  murder  the  wife  of  my  bosom;  but  to  kill 
her  civilly,  by  the  way  of  kindness,  I'll  put  as  fair  as  another  man. 
I'll  begin  to-morrow  night,  and  be  very  wrathful  with  her;  that's 
resolv'd  on. 
260  Dor.  Well,  Palamede,  here's  my  hand,  I'll  venture  to  be  your  second 
wife,  for  all  your  threat'nings. 

Pal^.  In  the  meantime  I'll  watch  you  hourly,  as  I  would  the  ripe- 
ness of  a  melon;  and  I  hope  you'll  give  me  leave  now  and  then  to  look 
on  you,  and  to  see  if  you  are  not  ready  to  be  cut  yet. 

Dor.  No,  no,  that  must  not  be,  Palamede,  for  fear  the  gardener 
should  come  and  catch  you  taking  up  the  glass. 

Enter  Rhodophil. 

Rho.  [Aside.]  Billing  so  sweetly!  Now  T  am  confirm'd  in  my  sus- 
picions; I  must  put  an  end  to  this,  ere  it  go  further. \To  Doralice.] 

Cry  you  mercy,  spouse,  I  fear  I  have  interrupted  your  recreations. 


2r,7.     fair]  QIF.     fair  Qi2.     for  Q:\. 
200.      cnnic  nnil]  Qq.     Oinittcd  in   F. 
1<ik\»;i\  (^IQL'K.     a  iakiutj  g."?. 
2G0.     yiiu  iinrcij]  (^1Q2F.     your  mercy  Q.">. 


212  MARKIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

270        Dor.     What  recreations? 

Eho.  Nay,  no  excuses,  good  spouse;  I  saw  fair  hand  convey'd  to  lip, 
and  press'd,  as  tho'  you  had  been  squeezing  soft  wax  together  for  an 
indenture.  Palamede,  you  and  I  must  clear  this  reckoning:  why  would 
you  have  seduc'd  my  wife? 

Fala.     Why  would  you  have  debauch'd  my  mistress? 

Eho.  What  do  you  think  of  that  civil  couple  that  play'd  at  a  game 
call'd  hide  and  seek,  last  evening,  in  the  grotto? 

Pala.     What  do  you  think  of  that  innocent  pair  who  made  it  their 

pretense  to  seek  for  others,  but  came,  indeed,  to  hide  themselves  there? 

280        Eho.     All  things  consider'd,  I  begin  vehemently  to  suspect,  that  the 

young  gentleman   I   found   in  your  company  last   night,  was   a  certain 

youth  of  my  acquaintance. 

Pala.  And  I  have  an  odd  imagination  that  you  could  never  have 
suspected  my  small  gallant,  if  your  little  villainous  Frenchman  had  not 
been  a  false  brother. 

Eho.  Farther  arguments  are  needless.  Draw  off;  I  shall  speak  to 
you  now  by  the  way  of  hilho.  [Claps  his  hand  to  his  sword. 

Pala.     And  I  shall  answer  you  by  the  way  of  Dangerfield. 

{Claps  his  hand  on  his. 

Dor.     Hold,  hold;  are  not  you  two  a  couple  of  mad  fighting  fools,  to 
290  cut  one  another's  throats  for  nothing? 

Pala.     How  for  nothing?     He  courts  the  woman  I  must  marry. 

Eho.     And  he  courts  you,  whom  I  have  married. 

Dor.     But  you  can  neither  of  you  be  jealous  of  what  you  love  not. 

Eho.  Faith,  I  am  jealous,  and  that  makes  me  partly  suspect  that  I 
love  you  better  then  I  thought. 

Dor.     Pish!     A  mere  jealousy  of  honor. 

Eho.  Gad,  I  am  afraid  there's  something  else  in  't;  for  Palamede 
has  wit,  and,  if  he  loves  you,  there's  something  more  in  ye  then  I  have 
found :  some  rich  mine,  for  aught  I  know,  that  I  have  not  yet  discover'd. 
300  Pala.  'Slife,  what's  this?  Here's  an  argument  for  me  to  love 
Melantha ;  for  he  has  lov'd  her,  and  he  has  wit  too,  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  there  may  be  a  mine ;  but,  if  there  be,  I  am  resolv'd  I'll  dig  for  't. 

Dor.  [To  Rhodophil.]  Then  I  have  found  my  account  in  raising 
your  jealousy.  O!  "tis  the  most  delicate  sharp  sauce  to  a  cloy'd  stomach; 
it  will  give  you  a  new  edge,  Rhodophil. 

Eho.  And  a  new  point  too,  Doralice,  if  I  could  be  sure  thou  art 
honest. 

Dor.     If  you   are  wise,   believe   me   for  your   own   sake.     Love   and 
religion   have   but   one   thing   to   trust   to;    that's   a   good   sound    faith. 
310  Consider,   if   I   have   play'd    false,   you    can   never    find   it   out    by   any 
experiment  you  can  make  upon  me. 

Eho.  No?  Why,  suppose  I  had  a  delicate  screw'd  gun;  if  I  left 
her  clean,  and  found  her  foul,  I  should  discover,  to  my  cost,  she  had 
been  shot  in. 


288.      [hand]   QqF.     [hands]   SsM. 
294.      and  that]  QqF.     and  this  SsM. 

that  I]  Q1Q2P.     Q^  omits  that. 
2fl7.     there's]  Q1Q2F.     there  is  Q3. 
298.     in  ye]  Q1Q2F.     in  you  Q3. 


ACT  V  213 

Dor.  But  if  you  left  her  clean,  and  found  her  only  rusty,  you  \Yould 
discover,  to  your  shame,  she  was  only  so  for  want  of  shooting. 

Pala.     Rhodophil,   you    know    me   too    well   to   imagine    I   speak    for 
fear;  and  therefore,  in  consideration  of  our  past  friendship,  I  will  tell 
you,  and  bind  it  by  all  things  holy,  that  Doralice  is  innocent. 
320        Eho.     Friend,    I    will    believe    you,    and    vow    the    same    for    your 
Melantha;  but  the  devil  on  't  is,  how  we  shall  keep  'em  so. 

Pala.  What  dost  think  of  a  blessed  community  betwixt  us  four,  for 
the  solace  of  the  women,  and  relief  of  the  men?  Methinks  it  would  be 
a  pleasant  kind  of  life:  wife  and  husband  for  the  standing  dish,  and 
mistress  and  gallant  for  the  dessert. 

Eho.  But  suppose  the  wife  and  the  mistress  should  both  long  for 
the  standing  dish,  how  should  they  be  satisfied  together? 

Pala.     In  such  a  case  they  must  draw  lots;  and  yet  that  would  not 
do  neither,  for  they  would  both  be  wishing  for  the  longest  cut. 
330        Eho.     Then  I  think,  Palamede,  we  had  as  good  make  a  firm  league, 
not  to  invade  each  other's  propriety. 

Pala.  Content,  say  I.  From  henceforth  let  all  acts  of  hostility  cease 
betwixt  us;  and  that,  in  the  usual  form  of  treaties,  as  well  by  sea  as  by 
land,  and  in  all  fresh  waters. 

Dor.  I  will  add  but  one  proviso,  that  whoever  breaks  the  league, 
either  by  war  abroad,  or  by  neglect  at  home,  both  the  women  shall 
revenge  themselves  by  the  help  of  the  other  party. 

Eho.     That's  but  reasonable.     Come  away,  Doralice ;   I  have  a  great 
temptation  to  be  sealing  articles  in  private. 
3-10        Pala.     Hast  thou  so?  [Claps  him  on  the  shoulder. 

' '  Fall  on,  Macduff, 
And  curst  be  he  that  first  cries:    'Hold,  enough.'"' 

Enter  Polydamas,  Palmyra,  Artemis,  Argaleox:  after  thon, 
EUBULUS  and  Hermoge-Xes,  guarded. 

Palm.     Sir,  on  my  knees  I  beg  you. 

Poly.     Away,  I'll  hear  no  more. 

Palm.     For  my  dead  mother's  sake;  you  say  you  lov'd  her, 
And  tell  me  I  resemble  her.     Thus  she 
Had  begg'd. 

Poly.         And  thus  had  I  denied  her. 

Palm.     You  must  be  merciful. 

Arga,  You  must  be  constant. 

Poly.     Go,  bear  'em  to  the  torture ;  you  have  boasted 
350  You  have  a  king  to  head  you;  I  would  know 
To  whom  I  must  resign. 

Eub.  This  is  our  recompense 

321.  ice  shall  keep  'cm]  QqF.     shall  tec  keep  them  SsM. 

320.  the  mistress]  QqF.     SsM  omit  the. 

'i2U.  cut]  F.     out  Qq,  probably  by  a  mere  misprint. 

.3.31.  propriety]  QIF.     property  Q2Q3. 

333.  as  by  Uind]  Qq.     as  land  F  SsM. 

.335.  but  one]   Q1Q2F.     Q3  omits  but. 

3.30.  by  nr<jlrrt\   QqF.     SsM  omit  by. 

347.  had  J]  QqF.     /  had  SsM. 


214  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

For  serving  thy  dead  queen. 

Ecrm.  And  education 

Of  thy  daughter. 

Arga.     You  are  too  modest,  in  not  naming  all 
His  obligations  to  you:   why  did  you 
Omit  his  son,  the  Prince  Leonidas? 

Poly.     That  imposture 
I  had  forgot;  their  tortures  shall  be  doubled. 

Herm.     You  please  me;  I  shall  die  the  sooner. 
360        Eub.     No;   could  1  live  an  age,  and  still  be  rack'd, 

I  still  would  keep  the  secret.  [As  they  are  going  of. 

Enter  Leonidas,  guarded. 

Leon.     O,  whither  do  you  hurry  innocence! 
If  you  have  any  justice,  spare  their  lives; 
Or,  if  I  cannot  make  you  just,  at  least 
I'll  teach  you  to  more  purpose  to  be  cruel. 

Palm.     Alas,  what  does  he  seek! 

Leon.     Make  me  the  object  of  your  hate  and  vengeance! 
Are  these  decrepid  bodies,  worn  to  ruin, 
Just  ready  of  themselves  to  fall  asunder, 
370  And  to  let  drop  the  soul, — 

Are  these  fit  subjects  for  a  rack  and  tortures? 

Where  would  you  fasten  any  hold  upon  'em? 

Place  pains  on  me;   united  fix  'em  here; 

I  have  both  youth,  and  strength,  and  soul  to  bear  'em; 

And,  if  they  merit  death,  then  I  much  more, 

Since  'tis  for  me  they  suffer. 

Herm.  Heav'n  forbid 

We  should  redeem  our  pains,  or  worthless  lives. 
By  our  exposing  yours. 

Liib.  Away  viith  us. 

Farewell,  sir:    I  only  sufi'er  in  my  fears  for  you. 
380         Arga.     So  much  concern'd  for  him?  Then  my  suspicion's  true.  [Aside. 

[Whispers  the  King. 

Palm.     Hear  yet  my  last  request  for  poor  Leonidas, 
Or  take  my  life  with  his. 

Arga.  [To  the  King.]    Rest  satisfied,  Leonidas  is  he. 

Poly.     I  am  amaz'd.     What  must  be  done? 

Arga.     Command  his  execution  instantly: 
Give  him  not  leisure  to  discover  it ; 
He  may  corrupt  the  soldiers. 

Poly.     Hence  with  that  traitor,  bear  him  to  his  death: 
Haste  there,  and  see  my  will  perform'd. 
390         Leon.     Nay,  then,  I'll  die  like  him  the  gods  have  made  me. 

Hold,  gentlemen,  I  am [Argaleon  stops  his  mouth. 

Arga.     Thou  art  a  traitor;   'tis  not  fit  to  hear  thee. 

.",52.     thy]  QIF.     Ihc  Q2Q3. 

378,   379.     lii/  our    .    .    .      xir]      In  QqF  SsM,   Hermocrenos's  speech  closes 
with  an  hemistich,  and  the  words  Away     .     .     .     sir  form  one  line. 


ACT  V 


215 


Leon.     I  say,  I  am  the 

Arga.     So;  gag  him,  and  lead  him  off. 


[Getting  loose  a  little. 
[Again  stopping  his  mouth. 


Leonidas,  Hermogenes,  Eubulus,  led  off;  Polydamas  and  Argaleon 

follow. 

Palm.     Duty  and  love,  by  turns,  possess  my  soul, 
And  struggle  for  a  fatal  victory. 
I  will  discover  he's  the  king: — ah,  no! 
That  will  perhaps  save  him; 
But  then  I  am  guilty  of  a  father's  ruin. 
400  What  shall  I  do,  or  not  do?     Either  way 
I  must  destroy  a  parent,  or  a  lover. 
Break  heart ;   for  that's  the  least  of  ills  to  rae, 
And  death  the  only  cure.  [Swoons. 

Arte.     Help,  help  the  princess. 

liho.  Bear  her  gently  hence, 

Where  she  may  have  more  succor.       [She  is  borne  off ;  Arte,  follows  her. 

[Shouts  within,  and  clashing  of  swords. 

Pala.  What  noise  is  that? 

Enter  Amalthea,  running. 

Amal.     O,  gentlemen,  if  you  have  loyalty, 
Or  courage,  show  it  now !     Leonidas 
Broke  on  the  sudden  from  his  guards,  and  snatching 
A  sword  from  one,  his  back  against  the  scaffold, 
410  Bravely  defends  himself,  and  owns  aloud 

He  is  our  long-lost  king;   found  for  this  moment. 
But,  if  your  valors  help  not,  lost  for  ever. 
Two  of  his  guards,  mov'd  by  the  sense  of  virtue, 
Are  turn'd  for  him,  and  there  they  stand  at  bay 
Against  an  host  of  foes. 

Eho.  Madam,  no  more; 

We  lose  time;  my  command,  or  my  example, 
May  move  the  soldiers  to  the  better  cause. 

You'll  second  me?  [To  Pala. 

Pala.     Or  die  with  you:  no  subject  e'er  can  meet 
420  A  nobler  fate  then  at  his  sovereign's  feet.  [Exeiint. 

[Clashing  of  sicords  within,  and  shouts. 

Enter  Leonidas,   Riiodophil,   Palamede,   Eubulus,   Hermogenes,  and 
their  Party,  victorious;  Polydamas  and  Argaleon,  disarmed. 

Leon.     That  I  survive  the  dangers  of  this  day, 
Next  to  the  gods,  brave  friends,  be  yours  the  honor; 
And  let  heav'n  witness  for  me  that  my  joy 
Is  not  more  great  for  this  my  right  restor'd, 
Than  'tis,  that  I  have  power  to  recompense 


399.     /  am]  QqF.     I'm  SsM. 

404,  405.     Bear    .    .    .    succor]  QqF  SsM  arrange : 

Bear  tier  ycntly  hence,  where  she  may 

Hare  more  succor. 
412.     valors  help]  QqF.     valour  helps  SsM. 
421.      this]  QqF.     the  SsM. 


216  MARRIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Your  loyalty  and  valor.    Let  mean  princes, 
Of  abject  souls,  fear  to  reward  great  actions; 
I  mean  to  show, 

That  whatsoe'er  subjects,  like  you,  dare  merit, 
430  A  king,  like  me,  dares  give. 

Eho.     You  make  us  blush,  we  have  deserv'd  so  little. 

Pala.     And  yet  instruct  us  how  to  merit  more. 

Leon.     And  as  I  would  be  just  in  my  rewards, 
So  should  I  in  my  punishments;   these  two. 
This,  the  usurper  of  my  crown,  the  other 
Of  my  Palmyra's  love,  deserve  that  death 
Which  both  designed  for  me. 

Foly.  And  we  expect  it. 

Arga.     I  have  too  long  been  happy,  to  live  wretched. 

Poly.     And  I  too  long  have  govern'd,  to  desire 
440  A  life  without  an  empire. 

Leon.     You  are  Palmyra's  father;  and  as  such, 
Tho'  not  a  king,  shall  have  obedience  paid 
From  him  who  is  one.     Father,  in  that  name. 
All  injuries  forgot,  and  duty  own'd.  [Embraces  him. 

Poly.     O,  had  I  known  you  could  have  been  this  king, 
Thus  godlike,  great  and  good,  I  should  have  wish'd 
T'  have  been  dethron'd  before.     'Tis  now  I  live. 
And  more  then  reign;  now  all  my  joys  flow  pure, 
Unmix'd  with  cares,  and  undisturb'd  by  conscience. 

Entei-  Palmyra,  Amaltiiea,  Artemis,  Doralice,  and  Melantha. 

450        Leon.     See,  my  Palmyra  comes,  the  frighted  blood 
Scarce  yet  recall'd  to  her  pale  cheeks, 
Like  the  first  streaks  of  light  broke  loose  from  darkness, 
And  dawning  into  blushes!    [To  Poly.]  Sir,  you  said 
Your  joys  were  full.     O,  would  you  make  mine  so! 
I  am  but  half  restor'd  without  this  blessing. 

Poly.     The  gods,  and  my  Palmyra,  make  you  happy. 
As  you  make  me!  [Gives  her  hand  to  Leonidas. 

Palm.  Now  all  my  prayers  are  heard: 

I  may  be  dutiful,  and  yet  may  love. 
Virtue  and  patience  have  at  length  unravel'd 
460  The  knots  which  fortune  tied. 

Mel.  Let  me  die,  but  I'll  congratulate  his  majesty.  How  admirably 
well  his  royalty  becomes  him !  Becomes !  That  is  lui  sied.  but  our 
damn'd  language  expresses  nothing. 

Pala.  How?  Does  it  become  him  already?  'Twas  but  just  now  you 
said  he  was  such  a  figure  of  a  man. 

Mel.  True,  my  dear,  when  he  was  a  private  man  he  was  a  figure; 
but  since  he  is  a  king,  methinks  he  has  assum'd  another  figure:  he  looks 
so  grand,  and  so  august!  [Going  to  the  King. 

454.     icere  Q1Q2F.     are  Q3. 

465.     such]  Q1Q2F.     Omitted  by  Q3. 


ACT  V  217 

Pala.     Stay,  stay;    I'll  present  you   when  it  is  more  convenient.      I 

470  find  I  must  get  her  a  place  at  court;   and  when  she  is  once  there,  she 

can  be  no  longer  ridiculous;  for  she  is  young  enough,  and  pretty  enough, 

and  fool  enough,  and  French  enough,  to  bring  up  a  fashion  there  to  be 

affected. 

Leon.  [To  Rhodophil.]    Did  she  then  lead  you  to  this  brave  attempt? 
[To  Amaltiiea.]    To  you,  fair  Amalthea,  what  I  am, 
And  what  all  these,  from  me,  we  jointly  owe: 
First,  therefore,  to  your  great  desert  we  give 
Your  brother's  life;  but  keep  him  under  guard 
Till  our  new  power  be  settled.     What  more  grace 
480  He  may  receive,  shall  from  his  future  carriage 
Be  given,  as  he  deserves. 

Arga.     I  neither  now  desire,  nor  will  deserve  it; 
My  loss  is  such  as  cannot  be  repair'd, 
And,  to  the  wretched,  life  can  be  no  mercy. 

Leon.     Then  be  a  prisoner  always:  thy  ill  fate 
And  pride  will  have  it  so.     But  since  in  this  I  cannot, 
Instruct  me,  generous  Amalthea,  how 
A  king  may  serve  you. 

Amal.  I  have  all  I  hope. 

And  all  I  now  must  wish ;   I  see  you  happy. 
490  Those  hours  I  have  to  live,  which  heav'n  in  pity 
Will  make  but  few,  I  vow  to  spend  with  vestals: 
The  greatest  part  in  pray'rs  for  you ;  the  rest 
In  mourning  my  unworthiness. 
Press  me  not  farther  to  explain  myself; 
'Twill  not  become  me,  and  may  cause  you  trouble. 

Leon.  [Aside.]    Too  well  I  understand  her  secret  grief, 
But  dare  not  seem  to  know  it. — Come,  my  fairest;  [To  Palmyra. 

Beyond  my  crown,  1  have  one  joy  in  store. 
To  give  that  crown  to  her  whom  I  adore.  [Exeunt  omnes. 

477.      we  oivc]  QIF.     Q2  omits  tee.     I  (jive  Q?>. 

494.  not  farther]    Q1Q2F.     710  farther  Q.3.     not  further  SsM. 

495.  i/oit]  QqF  fcjsM  read  i/our,  which  was  probably  originally  a  misprint. 


EPILOGUE 

Thus  have  my  spouse  and  I  infoi-m'd  the  nation, 

And  led  you  all  the  way  to  reformation ; 

Not  with  dull  morals,  gravely  writ,  like  those 

Which  men  of  easy  phlegm  with  care  compose — 

(Your  poets  of  stiff  words  and  limber  sense, 

Born  on  the  confines  of  indifference;) 

But  by  examples  drawn,  I  dare  to  say, 

From  most  of  you  who  hear  and  see  the  play. 

There  are  more  Ehodophils  in  this  theater, 
10  More  Palamedes,  and  some  few  wives,  I  fear. 

But  yet  too  far  our  poet  would  not  run ; 

Tho'  'twas  well  offer'd,  there  was  nothing  done; 

He  would  not  quite  the  women's  frailty  bare, 

But  stripp'd  'em  to  the  waist,  and  left  'em  there: 

And  the  men's  faults  are  less  severely  shown, 

For  he  considers  that  himself  is  one. 

Some  stabbing  wits,  to  bloody  satire  bent. 

Would  treat  both  sexes  with  less  compliment ; 

Would  lay  the  scene  at  home ;  of  husbands  tell, 
20  For  wenches  taking  up  their  wives  i'  th'  Mell; 

.  And  a  brisk  bout,  which  each  of  them  did  want, 

Made  by  mistake  of  mistress  and  gallant. 

Our  modest  author  thought  it  was  enough 

To  cut  you  off  a  sample  of  the  stuff. 

He  spar'd  my  shame,  which  you,  I'm  sure,  would  not, 

For  you  were  all  for  driving  on  the  plot: 

Epilogue]    See  note  on  Prologue,  p.  152. 
5.     poets]   F  Cgd  SsM.     poeVs  Qq. 

7.  examples]  QqF.     example  Cgd. 

8.  hear  and  see]  QqF.     see  and  hear  Cgd. 

i:?.     women's  frailfu]  SsM.     woman's  frailty  QqF.     teamen  faulty  Cgd. 

14.  stripp'd]      Q]Q2F     C?d     SsM.     strip     Q3. 

'em     .  .     'em]      QqF.     them      .      .      .      them  Cgd  SsM. 

15.  are]  QqF.     tccrc  Cgd. 

17.  hent]  QqF.     lent  Cgd. 

18.  treat]  QqF.     fret  Cgd. 

19.  husbands]  QqF.     husband  Cgd. 
21.  each]  QqF.     Omitted  in  Cgd. 
26.  were]  QqF.     are  Cgd. 

218 


30 


EPILOGUE  219 


You  sigh'd  when  I  came  in  to  break  the  sport, 
And  set  your  teeth  when  each  design  fell  short. 
To  wives  and  servants  all  good  wishes  lend, 
But  the  poor  cuckold  seldom  finds  a  friend. 
Since,  therefore,  court  and  town  will  take  no  pity, 
I  humbly  cast  myself  upon  the  city. 


.31.     court  and  toiin]  QqF.     town,  nor  court  Cgd. 
32.     I]  QqF.     0  Cgd. 


ALL  FOR  LOVE 

OR 

THE  WORLD  WELL  LOST 

A  TRAGEDY 
WRITTEN  IN  IMITATION  OP  SHAKSPERE'S  STYLE 

Facile  est  verbum  aliquod  ardens  (ut  ita  dicam)  notare, 
idque  restinctis  aniworum  incendiis  irridcre. 

Cicero,  Orator,  27. 


All  for  Lo\'E  was  first  printed  in  1678;  other  quarto  editions  fol- 
lowed in  1692  and  1696.  These  quartos  are  cited  as  Q1Q2Q3.  The 
Folio  of  1701  (F)  was  printed  from  Q3,  and  Q3  from  Q2;  Ql  furnishes 
the  only  authentic  text.  For  illustrations  of  this  fact  see  notes  on  p. 
231,  1.  21;  p.  244,  1.  216-;  p.  253,  U.  96,  122;  p.  267,  11.  206-10;  p.  297, 
1.  323. 


TO 

THE   RIGHT    HONORABLE 

THOMAS,  EARL  OF  DANBY 

VISCOUNT  LATIMER,  AND   BARON   OSBORNE  OF  KIVETON,  IN   YORKSHIRE 

LORD   HIGH   TREASURER  OF  ENGLAND 

ONE  OF   HIS    majesty's   MOST   HONORABLE  PRIVY   COUNCIL 

and  knight  of  the  most  noble  order  of 
the  garter,  &c. 

My  Lord, 
The  gratitude  of  poets  is  so  troublesome  a  virtue  to  great  men  that  you 
are  often  in  danger  of  your  own  benefits:  for  you  are  threaten'd  with 
some  epistle,  and  not  suffer'd  to  do  good  in  quiet,  or  to  compound  for 
their  silence  whom  you  have  oblig'd.  Yet,  I  confess,  I  neither  am  nor 
ought  to  be  surpris'd  at  this  indulgence;  for  your  Lordship  has  the  same 
right  to  favor  poetry  which  the  great  and  noble  have  ever  had. 
Carmen  amat,  quisquis  carmine  digna  gerit. 

There  is  somewhat  of  a  tie  in  nature  betwixt  those  ■who  are  born 
10  foJsjP'orthy  actions,  and  those  who  can  transmit  them  to  posterity;  and 
tho'  ours  be  much  the  inferior  part,  it  comes  at  least  within  the  verge 
of  alliance;  nor  are  we  unprofitable  members  of  the  commonwealth,  when 
we  animate  others  to  those  virtues  which  we  copy  and  describe  from  you. 
'Tis  indeed  their  interest,  who  endeavor  the  subversion  of  govern- 
ments, to  discourage  poets  and  historians;  for  the  best  which  can  happen 
to  them  is  to  be  forgotten.  But  such  who,  under  kings,  are  the  fathers 
of  their  country,  and  by  a  just  and  prudent  ordering  of  affairs  preserve 
it,  have  the  same  reason  to  cherish  the  chroniclers  of  their  actions,  as 
they  have  to  lay  up  in  safety  the  deeds  and  evidences  of  their  estates; 
20  for  such  records  are  their  undoubted  titles  to  the  love  and  reverence  of 
after  ages.  Your  Lordship's  administration  has  already  taken  up  a  con- 
siderable part  of  the  English  annals;  and  many  of  its  most  happy  years 
are  owing  to  it.  His  Majesty,  the  most  knowing  judge  of  men,  and  the 
best  master,  has  acknowledg'd  the  ease  and  benefit  he  receives  in  the 
incomes  of  his  treasury,  which  you  found  not  only  disorder'd,  but 
exhausted.  All  things  were  in  the  confusion  of  a  chaos,  without  form  or 
method,  if  not  reduc'd  beyond  it,  even  to  annihilation;  so  that  you  had 
not  only  to  separate  the  jarring  elements,  but  (if  that  boldness  of 
expression  might  be  allow'd  me)   to  create  them.     Your  enemies  had  so 

223 


224  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

embroil'd  the  management  of  your  office  that  they  look'd  on  your  ad- 
vancement as  the  instrument  of  your  ruin.  And,  as  if  the  clogging  of 
the  revenue,  and  the  confusion  of  accounts,  which  you  found  in  your 
entrance,  were  not  sufficient,  they  added  their  own  weight  of  malice  to 
the  public  calamity,  by  forestalling  the  credit  which  should  cure  it.  Your 
friends  on  the  other  side  were  only  capable  of  pitying,  but  not  of  aiding 
you;  no  farther  help  or  counsel  was  remaining  to  you,  but  what  was 
founded  on  yourself;  and  that  indeed  was  your  security;  for  your  dili- 
gence, your  constancy,  and  your  prudence,  wrought  more  surely  within, 

10  when  they  were  not  disturb'd  by  any  outward  motion.  The  highest  virtue 
is  best  to  be  trusted  with  itself;  for  assistance  only  can  be  given  by  a 
genius  superior  to  that  which  it  assists;  and  'tis  the  noblest  kind  of 
debt,  when  we  are  only  oblig'd  to  God  and  nature.  This  then,  my  Lord, 
is  your  just  commendation,  that  you  have  wrought  out  yourself  a  way  to 
glory,  by  those  very  means  that  were  design'd  for  your  destruction :  you 
have  not  only  restor'd,  but  advanc'd  the  revenues  of  your  master,  without 
grievance  to  the  subject;  and,  as  if  that  were  little  yet,  the  debts  of  the 
exchequer,  which  lay  heaviest  both  on  the  crown  and  on  private  persons, 
have  by  your  conduct  been  establish'd  in  a  certainty  of  satisfaction.    An 

20  action  so  much  the  more  great  and  honorable,  because  the  case  was  with- 
out the  ordinary  relief  of  laws;  above  the  hopes  of  the  afflicted,  and 
beyond  the  narrowness  of  the  treasury  to  redress,  had  it  been  manag'd 
by  a  less  able  hand.  'Tis  certainly  the  happiest,  and  most  unenvied  part 
of  all  your  fortune,  to  do  good  to  many,  while  you  do  injury  to  none;  to 
receive  at  once  the  prayers  of  the  subject,  and  the  praises  of  the  prince; 
and,  by  the  care  of  your  conduct,  to  give  him  means  of  exerting  the 
chiefest  (if  any  be  the  chiefest)  of  his  royal  virtues,  his  distributive 
justice  to  the  deserving,  and  his  bounty  and  compassion  to  the  wanting. 
The   disposition   of  princes   towards  their   people   cannot   better  be   dis- 

30  cover'd  than  in  the  choice  of  their  ministers;  who,  like  the  animal  spirits 
betwixt  the  soul  and  body,  participate  somewhat  of  both  natures,  and 
make  the  communication  which  is  betwixt  them.  A  king,  who  is  just 
and  moderate  in  his  nature,  who  rules  according  to  the  laws,  whom  God 
made  happy  by  forming  the  temper  of  his  soul  to  the  constitution  of  his 
government,  and  who  makes  us  happy,  by  assuming  over  us  no  other 
sovereignty  than  that  wherein  our  welfare  and  liberty  consists;  a  prince, 
I  say,  of  so  excellent  a  character,  and  so  suitable  to  the  wishes  of  all 
good  men,  could  not  better  have  convey'd  himself  into  his  people's  appre- 
hensions, than  in  your  Lordship 's  person ;  who  so  lively  express  the  same 

40  virtues,  that  you  seem  not  so  much  a  copy,  as  an  emanation  of  him. 
Moderation  is  doubtless  an  establishment  of  greatness;  but  there  is  a 
steadiness  of  temper  which  is  likewise  requisite  in  a  minister  of  state; 
so  equal  a  mixture  of  both  virtues  that  he  may  stand  like  an  isthmus 
betwixt  the  two  encroaching  seas  of  arbitrary  power  and  lawless  anarchy. 
The  undertaking  would  be  difficult  to  any  but  an  extraordinary  genius, 
to  stand  at  the  line,  and  to  divide  the  limits;  to  pay  what  is  due  to  the 
great  representative  of  the  nation,  and  neither  to  inhance,  nor  to  yield 
up,  the  undoubted  prerogatives  of  the  crown.     These,  my  Lord,  are  the 


29.     letter  he]  QqF.     he  letter  SsM. 


DEDICATION  225 

proper  virtues  of  a  noble  Englishman,  as  indeed  they  are  properly  Eng- 
lish virtues;  no  people  in  the  world  being  capable  of  using  them,  but 
we  who  have  the  happiness  to  be  born  under  so  equal,  and  so  well-pois'd 
a  government; — a  government  which  has  all  the  advantages  of  liberty 
beyond  a  commonwealth,  and  all  the  marks  of  kingly  sovereignty  without 
the  danger  of  a  tyranny.  Both  my  nature,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  and 
my  reason,  as  I  am  a  man,  have  bred  in  me  a  loathing  to  that  specious 
name  of  a  republic;  that  mock  appearance  of  a  liberty,  where  all  who 
have  not  part  in  the  government  are  slaves ;   and  slaves  they  are  of  a 

10  viler  note  than  such  as  are  subjects  to  an  absolute  dominion.  For  no 
Christian  monarchy  is  so  absolute,  but  'tis  circumscrib'd  with  laws;  but 
when  the  executive  power  is  in  the  law-makers,  there  is  no  farther  check 
upon  them;  and  the  people  must  suffer  without  a  remedy,  because  they 
are  oppress'd  by  their  representatives.  If  I  must  serve,  the  number  of 
my  masters,  who  were  born  my  equals,  would  but  add  to  the  ignominy 
of  my  bondage.  The  nature  of  our  government,  above  all  others,  is 
exactly  suited  both  to  the  situation  of  our  country,  and  the  temper  of 
the  natives;  an  island  being  more  proper  for  commerce  and  for  defense, 
than  for  extending  its  dominions  on  the  Continent ;   for  what  the  valor 

20  of  its  inhabitants  might  gain,  by  reason  of  its  remoteness,  and  the 
casualties  of  the  seas,  it  could  not  so  easily  preserve:  and,  therefore, 
neither  the  arbitrary  power  of  one,  in  a  monarchy,  nor  of  many,  in  a 
commonwealth,  could  make  us  greater  than  we  are.  'Tis  true  that  vaster 
and  more  frequent  taxes  might  be  gather'd  when  the  consent  of  the 
people  was  not  ask"d  or  needed;  but  this  were  only  by  conquering  abroad 
to  be  poor  at  home;  and  the  examples  of  our  neighbors  teach  us  that  they 
are  not  always  the  happiest  subjects  whose  kings  extend  their  dominions 
farthest.  Since  therefore  we  cannot  win  by  an  offensive  war,  at  least 
a  land  war,  the  model  of  our  government  seems  naturally  contriv'd  for 

30  the  defensive  part;  and  the  consent  of  a  people  is  easily  obtain'd  to 
contribute  to  that  power  which  must  protect  it.  Felices  nimium,  iona  si 
sua  norint,  Angligence!  And  yet  there  are  not  wanting  malcontents 
amongst  us,  who,  surfeiting  themselves  on  too  much  happiness,  would 
persuade  the  people  that  they  might  be  happier  by  a  change.  'Twas 
indeed  the  policy  of  their  old  forefather,  when  himself  was  fallen  from 
the  station  of  glory,  to  seduce  mankind  into  the  same  rebellion  with  him 
by  telling  him  he  might  yet  be  freer  than  he  was;  that  is,  more  free 
than  his  nature  would  allow,  or  (if  I  may  so  say)  than  God  could  make 
him.    We  have  already  all  the  liberty  which  freeborn  subjects  can  enjoy, 

40  and  all  beyond  it  is  but  license.  But  if  it  be  liberty  of  conscience  which 
they  pretend,  the  moderation  of  our  Church  is  such  that  its  practice 
extends  not  to  the  severity  of  persecution ;  and  its  discipline  is  withal 
so  easy  that  it  allows  more  freedom  to  dissenters  than  any  of  the  sects 
would  allow  to  it.  In  the  meantime,  what  right  can  be  pretended  by 
these  men  to  attempt  innovations  in  Church  or  State?  Who  made  them 
the  trustees,  or  (to  speak  a  little  nearer  their  own  language)  the  keepers 
of  the  liberty  of  England?  If  their  call  be  extraordinary,  let  them 
convince  us  by  working  miracles;   for  ordinary  vocation  they  can  have 

33.     among8t'\   Qq.     among  FSs'M. 

45.     innoiationa]  QqF.     innoiation  SsM. 


226  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

none,  to  disturb  the  government  under  which  they  were  born,  and  which 
protects  them.  He  who  has  often  chang'd  his  party,  and  always  has 
made  his  interest  the  rule  of  it,  gives  little  evidence  of  his  sincerity  for 
the  public  good;  'tis  manifest  he  changes  but  for  himself,  and  takes  the 
people  for  tools  to  work  his  fortune.  Yet  the  experience  of  all  ages 
might  let  him  know  that  they  who  trouble  the  waters  first  have  seldom 
the  benefit  of  the  fishing;  as  they  who  began  the  late  rebellion  enjoy'd 
not  the  fruit  of  their  undertaking,  but  were  crush'd  themselves  by  the 
usurpation  of  their  own  instrument.     Neither  is  it  enough  for  them  to 

10  answer  that  they  only  intend  a  reformation  of  the  government,  but  not 
the  subversion  of  it:  on  such  pretenses  all  insurrections  have  been 
founded;  'tis  striking  at  the  root  of  power,  which  is  obedience.  Every 
remonstrance  of  private  men  has  the  seed  of  treason  in  it;  and  discourses 
which  are  couch'd  in  ambiguous  terms  are  therefore  the  more  dangerous, 
because  they  do  all  the  mischief  of  open  sedition,  yet  are  safe  from  the 
punishment  of  the  laws.  These,  my  Lord,  are  considerations  which  I 
should  not  pass  so  lightly  over,  had  I  room  to  manage  them  as  they 
deserve;  for  no  man  can  be  so  inconsiderable  in  a  nation,  as  not  to  have 
a  share  in  the  welfare  of  it;  and  if  he  be  a  true  Englishman,  he  must 

20  at  the  same  time  be  fir'd  with  indignation,  and  revenge  himself  as  he 
can  on  the  disturbers  of  his  country.  And  to  whom  could  I  more  fitly 
apply  myself  than  to  your  Lordship,  who  have  not  only  an  inborn,  but  an 
hereditary  loyalty?  The  memorable  constancy  and  sufferings  of  your 
father,  almost  to  the  ruin  of  his  estate  for  the  royal  cause,  were  an 
earnest  of  that  which  such  a  parent  and  such  an  institution  would  produce 
in  the  person  of  a  son.  But  so  unhappy  an  occasion  of  manifesting  your 
own  zeal,  in  suffering  for  his  present  Majesty,  the  providence  of  God, 
and  the  prudence  of  your  administration,  will,  I  hope,  prevent;  that,  as 
your  father's  fortune  waited  on  the  unhappiness  of  his  sovereign,  so  your 

30  own  may  participate  of  the  better  fate  which  attends  his  son.  The 
relation  which  you  have  by  alliance  to  the  noble  family  of  your  lady 
serves  to  confirm  to  you  both  this  happy  augury.  For  what  can  deserve 
a  greater  place  in  the  English  chronicle  than  the  loyalty  and  courage, 
the  actions  and  death,  of  the  general  of  an  army,  fighting  for  his  prince 
and  country?  The  honor  and  gallantry  of  the  Earl  of  Lindsey  is  so 
illustrious  a  subject  that  'tis  fit  to  adorn  an  heroic  poem;  for  he  was 
the  protomartyr  of  the  cause,  and  the  type  of  his  unfortunate  royal 
master. 

Yet  after  all,  my  Lord,  if  I  may  speak  my  thoughts,  you  are  happy 

40  rather  to  us  than  to  yourself;  for  the  multiplicity,  the  cares,  and  the 
vexations  of  your  imployment  have  betray'd  you  from  yourself,  and 
given  you  up  into  the  possession  of  the  public.  You  are  robb'd  of  your 
privacy  and  friends,  and  scarce  any  hour  of  your  life  you  can  call  your 
own.  Those  who  envy  your  fortune,  if  they  wanted  not  good  nature, 
might  more  justly  pity  it ;  and  when  they  see  you  wateh'd  by  a  crowd 
of  suitors,  whose  importunity  'tis  impossible  to  avoid,  would  conclude, 
with  reason,  that  you  have  lost  much  more  in  true  content  than  you  have 
gain'd  by  dignity;  and  that  a  private  gentleman  is  better  attended  by  a 

—  —  ...  .  — 

11.     pretenses]  QqF.     pretence  SsM. 


DEDICATION  227 

single  sen-ant,  than  your  Lordsliip  with  so  clamorous  a  train.  Pardon 
me,  my  Lonl,  if  I  speak  like  a  philosopher  on  this  subject;  the  fortune 
which  makes  a  man  uneasy  cannot  make  him  happy ;  and  a  wise  man 
must  think  himself  uneasy  when  few  of  his  actions  are  in  his  choice. 

This  last  consideration  has  brought  me  to  another,  and  a  very  season- 
able one  for  your  relief;  which  is  that  while  I  pity  your  want  of  leisure, 
I  have  impertinently  detain'd  you  so  long  a  time.  I  have  put  oif  my 
own  business,  which  was  my  dedication,  till  'tis  so  late  that  I  am  now 
asham'd  to  begin  it;  and  therefore  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  poem  which 
10  I  present  to  you,  because  I  know  not  if  you  are  like  to  have  an  hour 
which,  with  a  good  conscience,  you  may  throw  away  in  perusing  it;  and 
for  the  author,  I  have  only  to  beg  the  continuance  of  your  protection  to 
him,  who  is. 

My  Lord, 

Your  Lordship's  most  oblig'd, 

Most  humble,  and  most 

Obedient  servant, 

John  Deyden. 


PEEFACE 

The  death  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra  is  a  subject  -which  has  been 
treated  by  the  fjreatest  wits  of  our  nation,  after  Shakspere;  and  by  all  so 
variously  that  their  example  has  given  me  the  confidence  to  try  myself  in 
tills  bow  of  Ulysses  amongst  the  crowd  of  suitors;  and,  witlial,  to  take 
my  own  measures,  in  aiming  at  the  mark.  I  doubt  not  but  the  same 
motive  has  prevail'd  with  all  of  us  in  this  attempt;  I  mean  the  excel- 
lency of  the  moral:  for  the  chief  persons  representod  were  famous  pat- 
terns of  unlawful  love;  and  their  end  accordingly  was  unfortunate.  All 
reasonable  men  have  long  since  concluded  that  the  hero  of  the  poem 

10  ought  not  to  be  a  character  of  perfect  virtue,  for  then  he  could  not, 
without  injustice,  be  made  unhappy;  nor  yet  altogether  wicked,  because 
he  could  not  then  be  pitied.  I  have  therefore  steer'd  the  middle  course; 
and  have  drawn  the  character  of  Antony  as  favorably  as  Plutarch, 
Appian,  and  Dion  Cassius  would  give  me  leave;  the  like  I  have  observ'd 
in  Cleopatra.  That  which  is  wanting  to  work  up  the  pity  to  a  greater 
heighth  was  not  afforded  me  by  the  story;  for  the  crimes  of  love  which 
tlioy  both  committed  were  not  occasion'd  by  any  necessity,  or  fatal  igno- 
rance, but  were  wholly  voluntary;  since  our  passions  are,  or  ought  to  be, 
within  our  power.     The  fabric  of  the  play  is  regular  enough,  as  to  the 

20  inferior  parts  of  it;  and  the  unities  of  time,  place,  and  action  more 
exactly  observ'd,  than  perhaps  the  English  theater  requires.  Particularly, 
the  action  is  so  much  one  that  it  is  the  only  of  the  kind  without  episode, 
or  underplot ;  every  scene  in  the  tragedy  conducing  to  the  main  design, 
and  every  act  concluding  with  a  turn  of  it.  The  greatest  error  in  the 
contrivance  seems  to  be  in  the  person  of  Octavia ;  for,  tho'  I  might  use 
the  privilege  of  a  poet,  to  introduce  her  into  Alexandria,  yet  I  had  not 
enough  consider 'd  that  the  compassion  she  mov'd  to  herself  and  children 
was  destructive  to  that  which  I  reserv'd  for  Antony  and  Cleopatra; 
whose  mutual  love,  being  founded  upon  vice,  must  lessen  the  favor  of 

80  the  audience  to  them,  when  virtue  and  innocence  were  oppress'd  by  it. 
And,  tho'  I  justified  Antony  in  some  measure,  by  making  Octavia's 
departure  to  proceed  wholly  from  herself;  yet  the  force  of  the  first 
machine  still  remain'd;  and  the  dividing  of  pity,  like  the  cutting  of  a 
river  into  many  channels,  abated  the  strength  of  the  natural  stream. 
But  this  is  an  objection  which  none  of  my  critics  have  urg'd  against  me; 
and  therefore  I  might  have  let  it  pass,  if  I  could  have  resolv'd  to  have 
been  partial  to  myself.  The  faults  my  enemies  have  found  are  rather 
cavils  concerning  little  and  not  essential  decencies,  which  a  master  of  the 
ceremonies  may  decide  betwixt  us.     The  French  poets,   I  confess,  are 

1.     Antoni('\   Q1Q2  regularly  print  Anfhnny  in  the  preface,  Antony  in  the 
text  of  the  play.     Q.'JF  regularly  prirt  Anihony  in  both  preface  and  plaj*. 

229 


230  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

strict  observers  of  these  punctilios:  they  would  not,  for  example,  have 
sutFer'd  Cleopatra  and  Octavia  to  have  met;  or,  if  they  had  met,  there 
must  only  have  pass'd  betwixt  them  some  cold  civilities,  but  no  eagerness 
of  repartee,  for  fear  of  offending  against  the  greatness  of  their  char- 
acters, and  the  modesty  of  their  sex.  This  objection  I  foresaw,  and  at 
the  same  time  contemn'd;  for  I  judg'd  it  both  natural  and  probable  that 
Octavia,  proud  of  her  new-gain'd  conquest,  would  search  out  Cleopatra 
to  triumph  over  her;  and  that  Cleopatra,  thus  attack'd,  was  not  of  a 
spirit  to  shun  the  encounter:  and   'tis  not  unlikely  that  two  exasperated 

10  rivals  should  use  such  satire  as  I  have  put  into  their  mouths;  for,  after 
all,  tho'  the  one  were  a  Roman,  and  the  other  a  queen,  they  were  both 
women.  'Tis  true,  some  actions,  tho'  natural,  are  not  fit  to  be  repre- 
sented; and  broad  obscenities  in  words  ought  in  good  manners  to  be 
avoided:  expressions  therefore  are  a  modest  clothing  of  our  thoughts, 
as  breeches  and  petticoats  are  of  our  bodies.  If  I  have  kept  myself 
within  the  bounds  of  modesty,  aJl  beyond  it  is  but  nicety  and  affecta- 
tion; which  is  no  more  but  modesty  deprav'd  into  a  vice.  They  betray 
themselves  who  are  too  quick  of  apprehension  in  such  cases,  and  leave 
all  reasonable  men  to  imagine  worse  of  them,  than  of  the  poet. 

20  Honest  Montaigne  goes  yet  farther:  Nous  ne  sommes  que  ceremonie; 
la  ceremonie  nous  emporte,  et  Jaisso7is  la  substance  des  choses.  Nous 
nous  tenons  aux  branches,  et  abandonnons  le  tronc  et  le  corps.  Nous 
avons  appris  aux  dames  de  rougir,  oyans  seulement  nommer  ce  qu'elles 
ne  craignent  aucunement  a  faire:  nous  n'osons  appeller  a  droict  nos 
membres,  et  ne  craignons  pas  de  les  employer  a  toute  sorte  de  debauche. 
La  ceremonie  nous  defend  d'exprimer  par  paroles  les  choses  licites  et 
naturelles,  et  nous  Ten  croyons;  la  raison  nous  defend  de  n'en  faire  point 
d'illicites  et  mauvaises,  et  pcrsonne  ne  Ven  croid.  My  comfort  is  that  by 
this  opinion  my  enemies  are  but  sucking  critics,  who   would  fain  be 

30  nibbling  ere  their  teeth  are  come. 

Yet,  in  this  nicety  of  manners  does  the  excellency  of  French  poetry 
consist;  their  heroes  are  the  most  civil  people  breathing;  but  their  good 
breeding  seldom  extends  to  a  word  of  sense.  All  their  wit  is  in  their 
ceremony;  they  want  the  genius  which  animates  our  stage;  and  therefore 
'tis  but  necessary,  when  they  cannot  please,  that  they  should  take  care 
not  to  offend.  But  as  the  civilest  man  in  the  company  is  commonly  the 
dullest,  so  these  authors,  while  they  are  afraid  to  make  you  laugh  or  cry, 
out  of  pure  good  manners  make  you  sleep.  They  are  so  careful  not  to 
exasperate  a  critic  that  they  never  leave  him  any  work ;  so  busy  with  the 

40  broom,  and  make  so  clean  a  riddance,  that  there  is  little  left  either  for 
censure  or  for  praise:  for  no  part  of  a  poem  is  worth  our  discommend- 
ing, where  the  Avhole  is  insipid;  as  when  we  have  once  tasted  of  pall'd 
wine,  we  stay  not  to  examine  it  glass  by  glass.  But  while  they  affect 
to  shine  in  trifles,  they  are  often  careless  in  essentials.  Thus,  their 
Hippolytus  is  so  scrupulous  in  point  of  decency  that  he  will  rather 
expose  himself  to  death  than  accuse  his  stepmother  to  his  father;  and 
my  critics  I  am  sure  will  commend  him  for  it:  but  we  of  grosser  appre- 
hensions are  apt  to  think  that  this  excess  of  generosity  is  not  practicable, 

3.     only  have]  QqF,    have  only  SsM. 


PREFACE  231 

but  with  fools  and  madmen.  This  was  good  manners  with  a  vengeance; 
and  the  audience  is  like  to  be  much  concern'd  at  the  misfortunes  of  this 
admirable  horo;  but  take  Ilippolytus  out  of  his  poetic  fit,  and  I  suppose 
he  would  think  it  a  wiser  part  to  set  the  saddle  on  the  right  horse,  and 
choose  rather  to  live  with  the  reputation  of  a  plain-spoken,  honest  man, 
than  to  die  with  the  infamy  of  an  incestuous  villain.  In  the  meantime 
"we  may  take  notice  that  where  the  poet  ought  to  have  preserv'd  the  char- 
acter as  it  was  deliver'd  to  us  by  antiquity,  when  he  should  have  given 
us  the  picture  of  a  rough  young  man,  of  the  Amazonian  strain,  a  jolly 

10  huntsman,  and  both  by  his  profession  and  his  early  rising  a  mortal 
enemy  to  love,  he  has  chosen  to  give  him  the  turn  of  gallantry,  sent  him 
to  travel  from  Athens  to  Paris,  taught  him  to  make  love,  and  transform'd 
the  Hippolytus  of  Euripides  into  Monsieur  Ilippolyte.  I  should  not  have 
troubled  myself  thus  far  with  French  poets,  but  that  I  find  our  Chedreux 
critics  wholly  form  their  judgments  by  them.  But,  for  my  part,  I 
desire  to  be  tried  by  the  laws  of  my  own  country;  for  it  seems  unjust 
to  me  that  the  French  should  prescribe  here  till  they  have  conquer'd. 
Our  little  sonneteers,  who  follow  them,  have  too  narrow  souls  to  judge 
of  poetry.     Poets  themselves  are  the  most  proper,   tho'   I  conclude  not 

20  the  only  critics.  But  till  some  genius  as  universal  as  Aristotle  shall 
arise,  one  who  can  penetrate  into  all  arts  and  sciences,  without  the 
practice  of  them,  I  shall  think  it  reasonable  that  the  judgment  of  an 
artificer  in  his  own  art  should  be  preferable  to  the  opinion  of  another 
man;  at  least  where  he  is  not  brib'd  by  interest,  or  prejudic'd  by  malice. 
And  this,  I  suppose,  is  manifest  by  plain  induction:  for,  first,  the  crowd 
cannot  De  presum'd  to  have  more  tlian  a  gross  instinct  of  what  pleases 
or  displeases  them.  Every  man  will  grant  me  this;  but  then,  by  a 
particular  kindness  to  himself,  he  draws  his  own  stake  first,  and  will  be 
distinguish'd   from  the  multitude,  of  which  other  men  may  think   him 

30  one.  But,  if  I  come  closer  to  those  who  are  allow'd  for  witty  men, 
either  by  the  advantage  of  their  quality,  or  by  common  fame,  and  affirm 
that  neither  are  they  qualified  to  decide  sovereignly  concerning  poetry,  I 
shall  yet  have  a  strong  party  of  my  opinion;  for  most  of  them  severally 
will  exclude  the  rest,  eitiier  from  the  number  of  witty  men,  or  at  least 
of  able  judges.  But  here  again  they  are  all  indulgent  to  themselves; 
and  every  one  who  believes  himself  a  wit,  that  is,  every  man,  will  pre- 
tend at  the  same  time  to  a  right  of  judging.  But  to  press  it  yet  farther, 
there  are  many  witty  men,  but  few  poets;  neither  have  all  poets  a  taste 
of   tragedy.      And   this   is   the   rock  on   whioh   they  are  daily   splitting. 

40  Poetry,  which  is  a  picture  of  nature,  must  generally  please;  but  'tis  not 
to  be  understood  that  all  parts  of  it  must  please  every  man ;  therefore  is 
not  tragedy  to  be  ju<lg"d  by  a  witty  man,  whose  taste  is  only  confin'd  to 
comedy.  Nor  is  every  man  who  loves  tragedy  a  sufficient  ju<lge  of  it; 
he  must  understand  the  excellencies  of  it  too,  or  he  will  only  prove  a 
blind  a<lniirer,  not  a  critic.  From  hence  it  comes  that  so  many  satires 
on  poets,  and  censures  of  their  writings,  fly  abroad.  Men  of  pleasant 
conversation  (at  least  esteemed  so),  and  indued  with  a  trifling  kind  of 

21.     arine,  one  ir/iol  Ql.     Q2Qr!F  omit  one. 
2.">.      induction}    QqF.      inilurtions   SsM. 
44.     cxccllencicn]   QqF.     cjccellcncas  SsM. 


232  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

fancy,  perhaps  holp'd  out  with  some  smattering  of  Latin,  are  ambitious 
to  distinguish  themselves  from  the  herd  of  gentlemen,  by  their  poetry: 

Barns  enim  ferme  sensus  communis  in  ilia 
Fortuna. 

And  is  not  this  a  wretched  affectation,  not  to  be  contented  with  what 
fortune  has  done  for  them,  and  sit  down  quietly  with  their  estates,  but 
they  must  call  their  wits  in  question,  and  needlessly  expose  their  naked- 
ness to  public  view?  Not  considering  that  they  are  not  to  expect  the 
same  approbation   from  sober   men   which   they  have   found   from  their 

10  flatterers  after  the  third  bottle?  If  a  little  glittering  in  discourse  has 
pass'd  them  on  us  for  witty  men,  where  was  the  necessity  of  undeceiving 
the  world?  Would  a  man  who  has  an  ill  title  to  an  estate,  but  yet  is  in 
possession  of  it;  would  he  bring  it  of  his  own  accord,  to  be  tried  at 
Westminster?  We  who  write,  if  we  want  the  talent,  yet  have  the  excuse 
that  we  do  it  for  a  poor  subsistence;  but  what  can  be  urg'd  in  their 
defense,  who,  not  having  the  vocation  of  poverty  to  scribble,  out  of  mere 
wantonness  take  pains  to  make  themselves  ridiculous?  Horace  was  cer- 
tainly in  the  right,  where  he  said  that  no  man  is  satisfied  with  his  own 
condition.     A  poet  is  not  pleas 'd,  because  he  is  not  rich;  and  the  rich 

20  are  discontented,  because  the  poets  will  not  admit  them  of  their  number. 
Thus  the  case  is  hard  with  writers;  if  they  succeed  not,  they  must 
starve;  and  if  they  do,  some  malicious  satire  is  prepar'd  to  level  them 
for  daring  to  please  without  their  leave.  But  while  they  are  so  eager  to 
destroy  the  fame  of  others,  their  ambition  is  manifest  in  their  concern- 
ment; some  poem  of  their  own  is  to  be  produc'd,  and  the  slaves  are  to 
be  laid  flat  with  their  faces  on  the  ground,  that  the  monarch  may  appear 
in  the  greater  majesty. 

Dionysius  and  Nero  had  the  same  longings,  but  with  all  their  power 
they  could  never  bring  their  business  well  about.     'Tis  true,  they  pro- 

30  claim'd  themselves  poets  by  sound  of  trumpet;  and  poets  they  were, 
upon  pain  of  death  to  any  man  who  durst  call  them  otherwise.  The 
audience  had  a  fine  time  on  't,  you  may  imagine;  they  sate  in  a  bodily 
fear,  and  look'd  as  demurely  as  they  could:  for  'twas  a  hanging  matter 
to  laugh  unseasonably;  and  the  tyrants  were  suspicious,  as  they  had 
reason,  that  their  subjects  had  'em  in  the  wind;  so,  every  man,  in  his 
own  defense,  set  as  good  a  face  upon  the  business  as  he  could.  'Twas 
known  beforehand  that  the  monarchs  were  to  be  crown  'd  laureats ;  but 
when  the  shew  was  over,  and  an  honest  man  was  suffer'd  to  depart 
quietly,  he  took  out  his  laughter  Avhich  he  had  stifled,  with  a  firm  reso- 

40  lution  never  more  to  see  an  emperor's  play,  tho'  he  had  been  ten  years 
a-making  it.  In  the  meantime  the  true  poets  were  they  who  made  the 
best  markets,  for  they  had  wit  enough  to  yield  the  prize  with  a  good 
grace,  and  not  contend  with  him  who  had  thirty  legions.  They  were 
sure  to  be  rewarded,  if  they  confess'd  themselves  bad  writers,  and  that 
was  somewhat  better  than  to  be  martyrs  for  their  reputation.  Lucan's 
example  was  enough  to  teach  them  manners;  and  after  he  was  put  to 
death,  for  overcoming  Nero,  the  emperor  carried  it  without  dispute  for 

32.     sate]  QqF.     sat  SsM. 


PKEFACE  233 

the  best  poet  in  his  dominioiis.  No  man  ^vas  ambitious  of  that  grinning 
honor;  for  if  he  heard  the  malicious  trumpeter  proclaiming  his  name 
before  his  betters,  he  knew  there  was  but  one  way  with  him.  Maecenas 
took  another  course,  and  we  know  he  was  more  than  a  great  man,  for 
he  was  witty  too;  but,  finding  himself  far  gone  in  poetry,  which  Seneca 
assures  us  was  not  his  talent,  he  thought  it  his  best  way  to  be  well  with 
Virgil  and  with  Horace ;  that  at  least  he  might  be  a  poet  at  the  second 
hand;  and  we  see  how  happily  it  has  succeeded  with  him;  for  his  own 
bad  poetry  is  forgotten,  and  their  panegyrics  of  him  still  remain.     But 

10  they  who  should  be  our  patrons  are  for  no  such  expensive  ways  to  fame; 
they  have  much  of  the  poetry  of  Mascenas,  but  little  of  his  liberality. 
They  are  for  persecuting  Horace  and  Virgil,  in  the  persons  of  their 
successors;  (for  such  is  every  man  who  has  any  part  of  their  soul  and 
fire,  tho'  in  a  less  degree).  Some  of  their  little  zanies  yet  go  farther; 
for  they  are  persecutors  even  of  Horace  himself,  as  far  as  they  are  able, 
by  their  ignorant  and  vile  imitations  of  him;  by  making  an  unjust  use 
of  his  authority,  and  turning  his  artillery  against  his  friends.  But  how 
would  he  disdain  to  be  copied  by  such  hands!  I  dare  answer  for  him, 
he  woulil  bo  more  uneasy  in  their  company  than  he  was  with  Crispinus, 

20  their  forefather,  in  the  Holy  Way;  and  would  no  more  have  allow'd 
them  a  place  amongst  the  critics,  than  he  would  Demetrius  the  mimic, 
and  Tigellius  the  buffoon: 

Demetri,  teque,  TigeXli, 

Discipulorutn  inter  juheo  plorare  cathedras. 

With  what  scorn  would  he  look  down  on  such  miserable  translators, 
who  make  dogg"rel  of  his  Latin,  mistake  his  meaning,  misiipply  his 
censures,  and  often  contradict  their  own?  He  is  fix'd  as  a  landmark  to 
set  out  the  bounds  of  poetry: 

Saxum  antiquum,  ingens, — 

30  Limes  agro  positus,  litem  ut  discerneret  arvis. 

But  other  arms  than  theirs,  and  other  sinews  arc  requir'd  to  raise  the 
weight  of  such  an  author;  and  when  they  would  toss  him  against  their 
enemies : 

Genua  labant,  gelidus  concrevit  frigore  sanguis. 
Tum  lapis  ipse,  viri  vacuum  per  inane  volutus, 
Nee  spatium  evasit  totum,  nee  pertulit  ictum. 

For  my  part,  I  would  wish  no  other  revenge,  either  for  myself,  or 
the  rest  of  the  poets,  from  this  riming  judge  of  the  twelvepcnny  gal- 
lery, this  legitimate  son  of  Sternhold,  than  that  he  would  subscribe  his 
40  name  to  his  censure,  or  (not  to  tax  lym  beyond  his  learning)  set  his 
mark;  for,  should  he  own  himself  publicly,  and  come  from  behind  the 
lion's  skin,  they  whom  he  condemns  would  be  thankful  to  him,  they 
whom  he  praises  would  choose  to  be  conderan'd;  and  the  magistrates 
whom  he  has  elected  would  modestly  withdraw  from  their  employment, 


12.     Thei/    arc     .     .     .     8uccc8.<iors]    Qq.     They   are    for   procuring    them- 
selves nputiiliini  in  ihr  pcrxons  of  their  .shctcssois  F. 

32.      ar/'iiiint   their  encniicn]    QqF.      against  enemies   SsM. 
35.     volutus]   yqF.     volatus  SsM. 


234  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

to  avoid  the  scandal  of  his  nomination.  The  sharpness  of  his  satire, 
next  to  himself,  falls  most  heavily  on  his  friends,  and  they  ought  never 
to  forgive  him  for  commending  them  perpetually  the  wrong  way,  and 
sometimes  by  contraries.  If  he  have  a  friend  whose  hastiness  in  writing 
is  his  greatest  fault,  Horace  would  have  taught  him  to  have  "minc'd  the 
matter,  and  to  have  call'd  it  readiness  of  thought,  and  a  flowing  fancy; 
for  friendship  will  allow  a  man  to  christen  an  imperfection  by  the  name 
of  some  neighbor  virtue : 

Vellem  in  amicitia  sic  crraremus ;  ci  isti 
10  Errori  novien  virtus  posuisset  honcstum. 

But  he  would  never  have  allow'd  him  to  have  call'd  a  slow  man  hasty, 
or  a  hasty  writer  a  slow  drudge,  as  Juvenal  explains  it: 

Canibus  pigris,  scahieque  vetusta 

Levibus,  et  siccce  lambentibus  ora  lucerncB, 
Nomen  erit,  Pardus,  Tigris,  Leo;  si  quid  adhuc  est 
Quod  fremit  in  terris  violentius. 

Yet  Lucretius  laughs  at  a  foolish  lover,  even  for  excusing  the  imper- 
fections of  his  mistress: 

Nigra  /leXixpoos  est,  immunda  et  fcetida    aKoc-/ios. 
20  Balba  loqui  non  quit,  rpavXi^ei;  muta  pudens  est,  &e. 

But  to  drive  it  ad  Mthiopem  cygnum  is  not  to  be  indur'd.  I  leave 
him  to  interpret  this  by  the  benefit  of  his  French  version  on  the  other 
side,  and  without  farther  considering  him  than  I  have  the  rest  of  my 
illiterate  censors,  whom  I  have  disdain'd  to  answer,  because  they  are  not 
qualified  for  judges.  It  remains  that  I  acquaint  the  reader  that  I  have 
endeavor'd  in  this  play  to  follow  the  practice  of  the  ancients,  who,  as 
Mr.  Eymer  has  judiciously  observ'd,  are  and  ought  to  be  our  masters. 
Horace  likewise  gives  it  for  a  rule  in  his  Art  of  Poetry: 

Vos  exempJaria  Grceca 

30  Nocturna  vcrsatc   manu,  vcrsate  diurna. 

Yet,  tho'  their  models  are  regular,  they  are  too  little  for  English 
tragedy;  which  requires  to  be  built  in  a  larger  compass.  I  could  give 
an  instance  in  the  (Edipus  Tyrannus,  which  was  the  masterpiece  of 
Sophocles;  but  I  reserve  it  for  a  more  fit  occasion,  which  I  hope  to  have 
hereafter.  In  my  style,  I  have  profess 'd  to  imitate  the  divine  Shak- 
spere;  which  that  I  might  perform  more  freely,  I  have  disincumber 'd 
myself  from  rime.  Not  that  I  condemn  my  former  way,  but  that  this 
is  more  proper  to  my  present  purpose.  I  hope  I  need  not  to  explain 
myself,  that  I  have  not  copied  my  author  servilely:  words  and  phrases 
40  must  of  necessity  receive  a  change  in  succeeding  ages;  but  'tis  almost 
a  miracle  that  much  of  his  language  remains  so  pure ;  and  that  he  who 
began  dramatic  poetry  amongst  us,  untaught  by  any,  and  as  Ben  Jonson 
tells  us,  without  learning,  should  by  the  force  of  his  own  genius  perform 
so  much  that  in  a  manner  he  has  left  no  praise  for  any  who  come  after 
him.  The  occasion  is  fair,  and  the  subject  would  be  pleasant  to  handle 
the  difference  of  styles  betwdxt  him  and  Fletcher,  and  wherein,  and  how 


PREFACE  235 

far  they  are  both  to  be  imitated.  But  since  I  must  not  be  over-confident 
of  my  own  performance  after  him,  it  will  be  prudence  in  me  to  be 
silent.  Yet  I  hope  I  may  affirm,  and  without  vanity,  that,  by  imitating 
him,  I  have  excell'd  myself  throughout  the  play;  and  particularly,  that 
I  prefer  the  scene  betwixt  Antony  and  Ventidius  in  the  first  act  to 
anything  which  I  have  written  in  this  kind. 


PROLOGUE 

What  flocks  of  critics  hover  here  to-day,     l 

As  vultures  wait  on  armies  for  tiieir  prey,     V 

All  gaping  for  the  carcass  of  a  play!  J 

With  croaking  notes  they  bode  some  dire  event, 

And  follow  dying  poets  by  the  scent. 

Ours  gives  himself  for  gone;  y'  have  watch'd  your  time! 

He  fights  this  day  unarm'd, — without  his  rime;  — 

And  brings  a  tale  which  often  has  been  told; 

As  sad  as  Dido's;  and  almost  as  old. 

10     Ilis  hero,  whom  you  wits  his  bully  call. 

Bates  of  his  mettle,  and  scarce  rants  at  all: 
He's  somewhat  lewd ;  but  a  well-meaning  mind ; 
Weeps  much;  fights  little;  but  is  wondrous  kind. 
In  short,  a  pattern,  and  companion  fit, 
For  all  the  keeping  Tonies  of  the  pit. 
I  could  name  more:  a  wife,  and  mistress  too;     "] 
Both  (to  be  plain)   too  good  for  most  of  you:     V 
The  wife  well-natur'd,  and  the  mistress  true.       J 
Now,  poets,  if  your  fame  has  been  his  care, 

20    Allow  him  all  the  candor  you  can  spare. 
.A  brave  man  scorns  to  quarrel  once  a  day; 
Like  Hectors,  in  at  every  petty  fray. 
Let  those  find  fault  whose  wit  's  so  very  small, 
They've  need  to  show  that  they  can  think  at  all; 
Errors,  like  straws,  upon  the  surface  flow ; 
He  who  would  search  for  pearls  must  dive  below. 
Fops  may  have  leave  to  level  all  they  can; 
As  pigmies  would  be  glad  to  lop  a  man. 
Half-wits  are  fleas;  so  little  and  so  light, 

30     We  scarce  could  know  they  live,  but  that  they  bite. 
But,  as  the  rich,  when  tir'd  with  daily  feasts, 
For  change,  become  their  next  poor  tenant's  guests; 
Drink  hearty  draughts  of  ale  from  plain  brown  bowls, 
And  snatch  the  homely  rasher  from  the  coals: 
So  you,  retiring  from  much  better  cheer. 
For  once,  may  venture  to  do  penance  here. 
And  since  that  plenteous  autumn  now  is  past. 
Whose  grajies  and  peaches  have  indulg  'd  your  taste. 
Take  in  good  part,  from  our  poor  poet's  board, 

40     Such  rivel'd  fruits  as  winter  can  afford. 

237 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 


Mark  Antony. 
Ventidius,  his  General. 
DoLABELLA,  his  Friend. 
Alexas,  the  Queen's  Eunuch. 
Serapion,  Priest  of  Isis. 
[Myris],  another  Priest. 
Servants  to  Antony. 

Cleopatra,  Queen  of  Egypt. 
OCTAViA,  Antony's  Wife. 

J  '  f  Cleopatra's  Maids. 

Antony's  two  little  Daughters. 


SCENE — A  lexandria. 


[Myris]      Not  named  in  QqF.     Cf.  p.  239. 


ALL  FOR  LOVE 

OR 

THE  WORLD  WELL  LOST 

ACT  I 

Scene,  the  Tcmpie  of  Isis. 

Enter  Serapiox,  Myris,  Priests  of  Isis. 

Scrap.     Portents  and  prodigies  are  grown  so  frequent, 
That  they  have  lost  their  name.     Our  fruitful  Nile 
Flow'd  ere  the  wonted  season,  with  a  torrent 
So  unexpected,  and  so  wondrous  fierce. 
That  the  wild  deluge  overtook  the  haste 
Ev'n  of  the  hinds  that  watch'd  it;  men  and  beasts 
Were  borne  above  the  tops  of  trees,  that  grew 
On  th'  utmost  margin  of  the  water-mark. 
Then  with  so  swift  an  ebb  the  flood  drove  backward, 
10  It  slipp'd  from  underneath  the  scaly  herd: 
Here  monstrous  phocse  panted  on  the  shore ; 
Forsaken  dolphins  there,  with  their  broad  tails, 
Lay  lashing  the  departing  waves:   hard  by  'em, 
Sea  horses  flound'ring  in  the  slimy  mud, 
Toss'd  up  their  heads,  and  dash'd  the  ooze  about  'em. 

Enter  Alexas  behind  them. 

Myr.     Avert  these  omens,  Heav'n ! 

Scrap.     Last  night,  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and  one, 
In  a  lone  aisle  o'  th'  temple  while  I  walk'd, 
A  whirlwind  rose,  that,  with  a  violent  blast. 
20  Shook  all  the  dome:  the  doors  around  me  clapp'd; 
The  iron  wicket,  that  defends  the  vault 
Where  the  long  race  of  Ptolemies  is  laid, 
Burst  open,  and  disclos'd  the  mighty  dead. 
From  out  each  monument,  in  order  plac'd, 
An  armed  ghost  starts  up:  the  boy-king  last 
Rear'd  his  inglorious  head.     A  peal  of  groans 
Then  follow'd,  and  a  lamentable  voice 
Cried:    "Egypt  is  no  more!"     My  blood  ran  back. 


1.     are]   Qqf.     have  SsM.  2r,.     starts]    F.     start  Qq. 

239 


240  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

My  shaking  knees  against  each  other  knock"d ; 
30  On  the  cold  pavement  down  I  fell  intranc'd, 
And  so  unfinish'd  left  the  horrid  scene. 

Alex.   [Showing  himself.}    And  dream'd  you  this?  or  did  invent  the 
story, 
To  frighten  our  Egyptian  boys  withal, 
And  train  'em  up,  betimes,  in  fear  of  priesthood? 

Serap.     My  lord,  I  saw  you  not, 
Nor  meant  my  words  should  reach  your  ears;  but  what 
I  utter'd  was  most  true. 

Alex.  A  foolish  dream, 

Bred  from  the  fumes  of  indigested  feasts, 
And  holy  luxury. 

Serap.  I  know  my  duty: 

40  This  goes  no  farther. 

Alex.  'Tis  not  fit  it  should ; 

Nor  would  the  times  now  bear  it,  were  it  true. 
All  southern,  from  yon  hills,  the  Eoman  camp 
Hangs  o'er  us  black  and  threat'ning,  like  a  storm 
Just  breaking  on  our  heads. 

Serap.     Our  faint  Egyptians  pray  for  Antony; 
But  in  their  servile  hearts  they  own  Octavius. 

Myr.     Why  then  does  Antony  dream  out  his  hours, 
And  tempts  not  fortune  for  a  noble  day. 
Which  might  redeem  what  Aetium  lost? 
50        Alex.     He  thinks  'tis  past  recovery. 

Serap.  Yet  the  foe 

Seems  not  to  press  the  siege. 

Alex.  O,  there's  the  wonder. 

Maecenas  and  Agrippa,  who  can  most 
With  Caesar,  are  his  foes.     His  wife  Octavia, 
Driv'n  from  his  house,  solicits  her  re\enge; 
And  Dolabella,  who  was  once  his  friend, 
Upon  some  private  grudge,  now  seeks  his  ruin : 
Yet  still  war  seems  on  either  side  to  sleep. 

Serap.     'Tis  strange  that  Antony,  for  some  days  past. 
Has  not  beheld  the  face  of  Cleopatra ; 
60  But  here,  in  Isis'  temple,  lives  retir'd. 

And  makes  his  heart  a  prey  to  black  despair. 

Alex.     'Tis  true;   and  we  much  fear  he  hopes  by  absence 
To  cure  his  mind  of  love. 

Serap.  If  he  be  vanquish 'd. 

Or  make  his  peace,  Egypt  is  doom'd  to  be 
A  Roman  province;  and  our  plenteous  harvests 
Must  then  redeem  the  scarceness  of  their  soil. 
While  Antony  stood  firm,  our  Alexandria 
Rival'd  proud  Rome  (dominion's  other  seat), 
And  Fortune  striding,  like  a  vast  Colossus, 
70  Could  fix  an  equal  foot  of  empire  here. 

Alex.     Had  I  my  wish,  these  tyrants  of  all  nature. 


ACT  I  241 

Who  lord  it  o'er  mankind,  should  perish, — perish, 
Each  by  the  other's  sword;  but,  since  our  will 
Is  lamely  follow'd  by  our  pow'r,  Ave  must 
Depend  on  one;  with  him  to  rise  or  fall. 

Serap.     How  stands  the  queen  affected? 

Alex.  O,  she  dotes, 

She  dotes,  Serapion,  on  this  vanquished  man, 
And  winds  herself  about  his  mighty  ruins; 
Whom  would  she  yet  forsake,  yet  yield  him  up, 
80  This  hunted  prey,  to  his  pursuers'  hands. 

She  might  preserve  us  all:   but   'tis  in  vain — 
This  changes  my  designs,  this  blasts  my  counsels, 
And  makes  me  use  all  means  to  keep  him  here, 
Whom  I  could  wish  divided  from  her  arms. 
Far  as  the  earth's  deep  center.     Well,  you  know 
The  state  of  things;  no  more  of  your  ill  omens 
And  black  prognostics;  labor  to  confirm 
The  people's  hearts. 

Enter  Yentidius,  talking  aside  with  a  Gentleman  of  Antony's. 

Serap.  These  Romans  will  o'erhear  us. 

But,  who's  that  stranger?     By  his  warlike  port, 
90  His  fierce  demeanor,  and  erected  look, 
He's  of  no  vulgar  note. 

Alex.  O,   'tis  Ventidius, 

Our  emp'ror's  great  lieutenant  in  the  East, 
Who  first  show'd  Rome  that   Parthia  could  be  conquer'd. 
When  Antony  return'd  from  Syria  last, 
He  left  this  man  to  guard  the  Roman  frontiers. 

Serap.     You  seem  to  know  him  well. 

Alex.     Too  well.     I  saw  him  in  Cilicia  first. 
When  Cleopatra  there  met  Antony: 
A  mortal  foe  he  was  to  us,  and  Egypt. 
100  But, — let  me  witness  to  the  worth  I  hate, — 
A  braver  Roman  never  drew  a  sword; 
Firm  to  his  prince,  but  as  a  friend,  not  slave. 
He  ne'er  was  of  his  pleasures;  but  presides 
O'er  all  his  cooler  hours,  and  morning  counsels: 
In  short,  the  plainness,  fierceness,  rugged  virtue, 
Of  an  old  true-stamp'd  Roman  lives  in  him. 
His  coming  bodes  I  know  not  what  of  ill 
To  our  aflfairs.     Withdraw,  to  mark  him  better; 
And  I'll  acquaint  you  why  I  sought  you  here, 
110  And  what's  our  present  work. 

[They  withdraw  to  a  corner  of  the  stage;  and  Yentidius, 
with  the  other,  comes  forwards  to  the  front. 

Vent.  Not  see  him,  say  you? 

I  say,  I  must,  and  will. 

Gent.  He  has  commanded. 

On  pain  of  death,  none  should  approach  his  presence. 


242  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

Vent.     I  bring  him  news  will  raise  his  drooping  spirits, 
Give  him  new  life. 

Gent.  He  sees  not  Cleopatra. 

Vent.     Would  he  had  never  seen  her! 

Gent.     He  eats  not,  drinks  not,  sleeps  not,  has  no  use 
Of  anything,  but  thought ;  or,  if  he  talks, 
"Tis  to  himself,  and  then  'tis  perfect  raving: 
Then  he  defies  the  world,  and  bids  it  pass; 
120  Sometimes  he  gnaws  his  lip,  and  curses  loud 
The  boy  Octavius;  then  he  draws  his  mouth 
Into  a  scornful  smile,  and  cries,  "Take  all. 
The  world's  not  worth  my  care." 

Vent.  Just,  just  his  nature. 

Virtue's  his  path;  but  sometimes  'tis  too  narrow 
For  his  vast  soul;  and  then  he  starts  out  wide, 
And  bounds  into  a  vice,  that  bears  him  far 
From  his  first  course,  and  plunges  him  in  ills: 
But,  when  his  danger  makes  him  find  his  fault, 
Quick  to  observe,  and  full  of  sharp  remorse, 
130  He  censures  eagerly  his  own  misdeeds. 
Judging  himself  with  malice  to  himself, 
And  not   forgiving  what  as  man  he  did. 
Because  his  other  parts  are  more  than  man. — 
He  must  not  thus  be  lost.  [Alexas  and  the  Priests  come  forward. 

Alex.     You  have  your  full  instructions,   now  advance; 
Proclaim  your  orders  loudly. 

Serap.    Eomans,  Egyptians,  hear  the  queen's  command. 
Thus  Cleopatra  bids :  let  labor  cease ; 
To  pomp  and  triumphs  give  this  happy  day, 
140  That  gave  the  world  a  lord:  'tis  Antony's. 
Live,  Antony;   and  Cleopatra  live! 
Be  this  the  general  voice  sent  up  to  heav'n, 
And  every  public  place  repeat  this  echo. 

Vent.  [Aside.]     Fine  pageantry! 

Serap.  Set  out  before  your  doors 

The  images  of  all  your  sleeping  fathers. 
With  laurels  crown'd;  with  laurels  wreathe  your  posts. 
And  strow  with  flow'rs  the  pavement;  let  the  priests 
Do  present  sacrifice;  pour  out  the  wine. 
And  call  the  gods  to  join  with  you  in  gladness. 
150         Vent.     Curse  on  the  tongue  that  bids  this  general  joy! 
Can  they  be  friends  of  Antony,  who  revel 
When  Antony's  in  danger?     Hide,  for  shame, 
You  Romans,  your  great  grandsires'  images. 
For  fear  their  souls  should  animate  their  marbles, 
To  blush  at  their  degenerate  progeny. 

Alex.     A  love,  which  knows  no  bounds  to   Antony, 
Would  mark  the  day  with  honors,  when  all  heaven 
Labor'd  for  him,  when  each  propitious  star 
Stood  wakeful  in  his  orb,  to  watch  that  hour. 


ACT  I  243 

160  And  shed  his  better  influence.     Her  own  birthday 

Our  queen  neglected,  like  a  vulgar  fate, 

That  pass'd  obscurely  by. 

Vent.  Would  it  had  slept, 

Divided  far  from  his;  till  some  remote 

And  future  age  had  call'd  it  out,  to  ruin 

Some  other  prince,  not  him ! 

Alex.  Your  emperor, 

Tho'  grown  unkind,  would  be  more  gentle  than 

T'  upbraid  my  queen  for  loving  him  too  well. 

Vent.     Does  the  mute  sacrifice  upbraid  the  priest? 

He  knows  him  not  his  executioner. 
170  O,  she  has  deck"d  his  ruin  with  her  love, 

Le(i  him  in  golden  bands  to  gaudy  slaughter, 

And  made  perdition  pleasing;  she  has  left  him 

The  blank  of  what  he  was. 

I  tell  thee,  eunuch,  she  has  quite  unmann'd  him: 

Can  any  Koman  see,  and  know  him  now. 

Thus  alter'd  from  the  lord  of  half  mankind, 

Unbent,  unsinew'd,  made  a  woman's  toy, 

Shrunk  from  the  vast  extent  of  all  his  honors, 

And  eramp'd  within  a  corner  of  the  world? 
180  0  Antony! 

Thou  bravest  soldier,  and  thou  best  of  friends! 

Bounteous   as   nature;   next  to   nature's   God! 

Couldst  thou  but  make  new  worlds,  so  wouldst  thou  give  'em, 

As  bounty  were  thy  being:  rough  in  battle. 

As  the  first  Romans,  when  they  went  to  war; 

Yet,  after  victory,  more  pitiful 

Than  all  their  praying  virgins  left  at  home! 

Alex.     Would  you  could  add,  to  those  more  shining  virtues. 

His  truth  to  her  who  loves  him. 

Vent.  Would  I  could  not! 

190' But  wherefore  waste  I  precious  hours  with  thee? 

Thou  art  her  darling  mischief,  her  chief  engine, 

Antony's  other  fate.     Go,  tell  thy  queen, 

Ventidius  is  arriv'd,  to  end  her  charms. 

Let  your  Egyptian  timbrels  play  alone, 

Nor  mix  effeminate  sounds  with  Eoman  trumpets. 

You  dare  not  fight  for  Antony;  go  pray. 

And  keep  your  coward's  holiday  in  temples. 

[Exeutit  Alexas,  Serapion. 

Enter  a  second  Gentleman  of  M.  Antony. 
2  Getit.     The  emperor  approaches,  and  commands. 


[Enter  a  second,  etc.]  QqF  SsM  read  I  Reenter  the  (Jentlemnn  of  M. 
Antony],  except  that  Q3F,  by  a  misprint,  substitute  Gcntlcmrn  for  Ocntle- 
inan.  This  must  be  a  mistake,  as  is  shown  by  the  followlnj;:  speech  headings, 
and  by  the  fact  that  the  Gentleman  mentioned  at  I.  88  has  never  left  the 
stage. 


244  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

On  pain  of  death,  that  none  presume  to  stay. 
200        1  Gent.     I  dare  not  disobey  him.  [Going  out  with  the  other. 

Vent.  Well,  I  dare. 

But  I'll  observe  him  first  unseen,  and  find 
Which  way  his  humor  drives:  the  rest  I'll  venture.  [Withdraws. 

Enter  Antony,  icalking  tcith  a  disturb'd  motion  before 

he  speaks. 

Ant.     They  tell  me,  "tis  my  birthday,  and  I'll  keep  it 
With  double  pomp  of  sadness. 
'Tis  what  the  day  deserves  which  gave  me  breath. 
Why  was  I  rais'd  the  meteor  of  the  world. 
Hung  in  the  skies,  and  blazing  as  I  travel  'd, 
Till  all  my  fires  were  spent;  and  then  cast  downward, 
To  be  trod  out  by  Caesar? 

Kent.   [Aside.]     On  my  soul, 
210  'Tis  mournful,  wondrous  mournful! 

Ant.  Count  thy  gains. 

Now,  Antony,  wouldst  thou  be  born  for  this? 
Glutton  of  fortune,  thy  devouring  youth 
Has  starv'd  thy  wanting  age. 

Vent.     [Aside.]  How  sorrow-  shakes  him! 

So,  now   the   tempest  tears  him  up  by  th'   roots. 
And  on  the  ground  extends  the  noble  ruin. 

Ant.  [Having  thrown  himself  down.]     Lie  there,  thou  shadow  of  an 
emperor ; 
The  place  thou  pressest  on  thy  mother  earth 
Is  all  thy  empire  now:  now  it  contains  thee; 
Some  few  days  hence,  and  then  "twill  be  too  large, 
220  When  thou  'rt  contracted  in  thy  narrow  urn. 
Shrunk  to  a  few  cold  ashes;   then  Octavia 
(For  Cleopatra  will  not  live  to  see  it), 
Octavia  then  will  have  thee  all  her  own. 
And  bear  thee  in  her  widow VI  hand  to  CsGsar; 
Caesar  will  weep,  the  crocodile  will  weep, 
To  see  his  rival  of  the  universe 

Lie  still  and  peaceful  there.     I  '11  think  no  more  on  't. — 
Give  me  some  music;   look  that  it  be  sad: 


216.  Lie  there,  etc.]  FSsM  work  confusion  hy  making  the  twelve  lines 
beginning  here  a  continuation  of  the  speech  of  Ventidliis.  The  mistake  arose 
from  a  misinterpretation  of  the  stage  direction  in  Q1Q2,  where  the  words 
Ant.  having  thrown  himself  doicn,  instead  of  being  bracketed  in  the  margin, 
are  placed  between  the  lines  of  text,  to  mark  the  l>eginning  of  Antony's 
speech  Q,3  moves  them  to  t)ie  margin,  so  that  Ventidius's  speech  seems  to 
continue  through  1.  240,  and  to  be  followed  by  a  short  speech  by  the  same 
person.  The  printer  of  F  retained  the  stage  direction  as  in  Q.3  :  but.  noticing 
the  difficulty,  made  a  new  speech  by  Antony  begin  with  the  words  Give  me 
gome  music  (1.  228).  Queerly  enough,  the  passage  is  printed  correctly  in 
Salntsbury's  reprint  of  Scott's  Introduction  to  the  play  (Ss.  v.  309). 


ACT  I  245 

I'll  soothe  my  melancholy,  till  I  swell, 
230  And  burst  myself  Avith  sighing. —  [Soft  music. 

'Tis  somewhat  to  my  humor.     Stay,  I  fancy 
I'm  now  turn'd  wild,  a  commoner  of  nature; 
Of  all  forsaken,  and  forsaking  all, 
Live  in  a  shady  forest's  sylvan  scene; 
Stretch'd  at  my  length  beneath  some  blasted  oak, 
I  lean  my  head  upon  the  mossy  bark. 
And  look  just  of  a   piece  as  I  grew   from  it; 
My  uncomb'd  locks,  matted  like  mistletoe. 
Hang  o'er  my  hoary  face;  a  murm'ring  brook 
240  Runs  at  my  foot. 

Vent.  Methinks  I  fancy 

Myself  there  too. 

Ant.     The  herd  come  jumping  by  me. 
And,   fearless,  quench  their  thirst,  while  I  look  on. 
And  take  me  for  their  fellow-citizen. 
More  of  this  image,  more;   it  lulls  my  thoughts.        [Soft  music  again. 

Vent.    I  must  disturb  him;  I  can  hold  no  longer.     [Stands  before  him. 

Ant.  [Starting  iip.]     Art  thou  Vcntidius? 

Vent.  Are  you  Antony? 

I'm  liker  what  I  was  than  you  to  him 
I  left  you  last. 

.471-^.  I  'm  angry. 

Vent.  So  am  I. 

Ant.     I  would  be  private:  leave  me. 

Ve7it.  Sir,  I  love  you, 

250  And  therefore  will  not  leave  you. 

Ant.  Will  not  leave  me! 

Where  have  you  learnt  that  answer?    Who  am  I? 

Vent.     My  emperor;  the  man  I  love  next  heaven. 
If  I  said  more,  I  think  'twere  scarce  a  sin : 
Y '  are  all  that  's  good,  and  godlike. 

Ant.  All  that's  wretched. 

You  will  not  leave  me  then? 

Vent.  'Twas  too  presuming 

To  say  I  would  not ;  but  I  dare  not  leave  you : 
And,  'tis  unkind  in  you  to  chide  me  hence 
So  soon,  when  I  so  far  have  come  to  see  you. 

Ant.     Now  thou  hast  seen  mc,  art  thou  satisfied? 
260  For,  if  a  friend,  thou  hast  beheld  enough; 
And,  if  a  foe,  too  much. 

Vent.  [Weeping.]     Look,  emperor,  this  is  no  common  dew. 
I  have  not  wept  this  forty  year;   but  now 
My  mother  comes  afresh  into  my  eyes; 
I  cannot  help  her  softness. 

Ant.     By  heav'n,  he  weeps!   poor  good  old  man,  ho  weeps! 

254.     godlike]  god-like  SsM.     good-like  QqF. 


246  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

The  big  round  drops  course  one  another  down 
The  furrows  of  his  cheeks. — Stop  'em,  Ventidius, 
Or  I  shall  blush  to  death:   they  set  my  shame, 
270  That  caus'd  'em,  full  before  me. 

Vent.  I'll  do  my  best. 

Ant.     Sure  there  's  contagion  in  the  tears  of  friends: 
See,  I  have  caught  it  too.    Believe  me,  'tis  not 
Por  my  own  griefs,  but  thine. — Nay,  father! 

Vent.  Emperor. 

Ant.     Emperor!      Why,  that   "s  the  style  of  victory; 
The   conqu'ring  soldier,  red  with  unfelt  wounds. 
Salutes  his  general   so :    but  never  more 
Shall  that  sound  reach  my  ears. 

Vent.  I  warrant  you. 

Ant.     Actium,  Actium!      O!  — 

Vent.  It  sits  too  near  you. 

Ant.     Here,  here  it  lies;   a  lump  of  lead  by  day, 
280  And,  in  my  short,  distracted,  nightly  slumbers. 
The  hag  that  rides  my  dreams. 

Vent.     Out  with  it;   give  it  vent. 

Ayit.  Urge  not  my  shame. 

1  lost  a  battle. 

Vent.         So  has  Julius  done. 

Ant.     Thou  favor'st  me,  and  speak'st  not  half  thou  think'st; 
For  Julius  fought  it  out,  and  lost  it  fairly: 
But  Antony 

Vent.     Nay,  stop  not. 

Ant.  Antony, — 

Well,  thou  wilt  have  it, — like  a  coward,  fled, 
Fled  while  his  soldiers  fought;   fled  first,  Ventidius. 
Thou  long'st  to  curse  me,  and  I  give  thee  leave. 
290  I  know  thou  cam'st  prepar'd  to  rail. 

Ve7it.  I  did. 

Ant.     I'll  help  thee. — I  have  been  a  man,  Ventidius. 

Vent.     Yes,  and  a  brave  one;  but 

Ant.  I  know  thy  meaning. 

But  I  have  lost  my  reason,  have  disgrac'd 
The  name  of  soldier,  with  inglorious  ease. 
In  the  full  vintage  of  my  flowing  honors, 
Sate  still,  and  saw  it  press'd  by  other  hands. 
Fortune  came  smiling  to  my  youth,  and  woo'd  it, 
And  purple  greatness  met  my  ripen'd  years. 
When  first  I  came  to  empire,  I  was  borne 
300  On  tides  of  people,  crowding  to  my  triumphs; 
The  wish  of  nations;  and  the  willing  world 
Receiv'd  me  as  its  pledge  of  future  peace; 
I  was  so  great,  so  happy,  so  belov'd, 
Fate  could  not  ruin  me;  till  I  took  pains. 
And  work'd  against  my  fortune,  chid  her  from  me. 


ACT  T  247 

And  turn'd  her  loose;  yet  still  she  came  again. 
My  careless  days,  and  my  luxurious  nights, 
At  length  have  wearied  her,  and  now  she  's  gone, 
Gone,  gone,  divorc'd  for  ever.     Help  me,  soldier, 
310  To  curse  this  madman,  this  industrious  fool, 
Who  labor'd  to  be  wretched:  prytliee,  curse  me. 

Vent.     No. 

Ant.  Why? 

Vent.  You  are  too  sensible  already 

Of  wliat  y'  have  done,  too  conscious  of  your  failings; 
And,  like  a  scorpion,  whipp'd  by  others  first 
To  fury,  sting  yourself  in  mad  revenge. 
I  would  bring  balm,  and  pour  it  in  your  wounds, 
Cure  your  distemper'd  mind,  and  heal  your  fortunes. 

Ant.     I  know  thou  wouldst. 

Vent.  I  will. 

Ajit.  Ha,   ha,  ha,   ha! 

Vent.     You  laugh. 

Ant.  I  do,  to  see  oflScious  love 

320  Give  cordials  to  the  dead. 

Vent.  You   would   be  lost,  then? 

Ant.     I  am. 

Vent.  I  say  you  are  not.     Try  your  fortune. 

Ant.     I  have,  to  th'  utmost.     Dost  tliou  think  me  desperate, 
Without  just  cause?     A^o,  when  I  found  all  lost 
Beyond  repair,  I  hid  me  from  the  world, 
And  learnt  to  scorn  it  here ;   which  now   I  do 
So  heartily,  I  think  it  is  not  worth 
The  cost  of  keeping. 

Vent.  Caesar  thinks  not  so: 

He'll  thank  you  for  the  gift  he  could  not  take. 
You  would  be  kill'd,  like  Tully,  would  you?     Do, 
330  Hold  out  your  throat  to  Caesar,  and  die  tamely. 

Ant.     No,  I  can  kill  myself;   and  so  resolve. 

Vent.     I  can  die  with  you  too,  when  time  shall  serve; 
But  fortune  calls  upon  us  now  to  live. 
To  fight,  to  conquer. 

Ant.  Sure  thou  dream 'st,  Ventidius. 

Vent.     No ;  'tis  you  dream ;  you  sleep  away  your  hours 
In  desperate  sloth,  miscall'd  philosophy. 
Up,  up,  for  honor's  sake;  twelve  legions  wait  you, 
And  long  to  call  you  chief:   by  painful  journeys 
I  led  'em,  patient  both  of  heat  and  hunger, 
340  Down  from  the  Parthian  marches  to  the  Nile. 
'Twill  do  you  good  to  see  their  sunburnt  faces, 
Their  scarr'd  cheeks,  and  ehopp'd  hands:   there  's  virtue  in  'em. 
They'll  sell  those  mangled  limbs  at  dearer  rates 
Than  yon  trim  bands  can  buy. 

Ant.  Where   left   you    them? 


248  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Vent.     I  said  in  Lower  Syria. 

A7it.  Bring   'em  hither; 

There  may  be  life  in   these. 

J'ent.  They  will  not  come. 

Ant.    Why  didst  thou  mock  my  hopes  with  promis'd  aids, 
To  double  my  despair?     They're  mutinous. 

y'ent.     Most   firm   and   loyal. 

Ant.  Yet  they  will  not  march 

350  To  succor  me.     O  trifler! 

Vent.  They  petition 

You  would  make  haste  to  head  'em. 

Ant.  I'm  besieg'd. 

Ve7it.    There  's  but  one  way  shut  up.     How  came  I  hither  1 

A7it.     I  will  not  stir. 

Vent.  They  would  perhaps  desire 

A  better  reason. 

Ant.  I  have  never  us'd 

My  soldiers  to  demand  a  reason  of 
My  actions.     Why  did  they  refuse  to  march? 

Vent.     They  said  they  would  not  fight  for  Cleopatra. 

Ant.     What  was  't  they  said? 

Vent.     They  said  they  would  not  fight   for  Cleopatra. 
360  Why  should  they  fight  indeed,  to  make  her  conquer, 
And  make  you  more  a  slave?  to  gain  you  kingdoms. 
Which,  for  a  kiss,  at  your  next  midnight  feast, 
You'll  sell  to  her?     Then  she  new-names  her  jewels, 
And  calls  this  diamond  such  or  such  a  tax; 
Each  pendant  in  her  ear  shall  be  a  province. 

Ant.     Ventidius,  I  allow  your  tongue  free  license 
On  all  my  other  faults;  but,  on  your  life. 
No   word   of   Cleopatra :    she   deserves 
More  worlds  than  I  can  lose. 

Ve7it.  Behold,  you  pow'rs, 

370  To  whom  you  have  intrusted  humankind! 
See  Europe,  Afric,  Asia,  put  in  balance. 
And  all  weigh'd  down  by  one  light,  worthless  woman! 
I  think  the  gods  are  Antonies,  and  give, 
Like  prodigals,  this  nether  world  away 
To  none  but  wasteful  hands. 

A7it.  You  grow  presumptuous. 

Vent.     I  take  the  privilege  of  plain  love  to   speak. 

Ant.     Plain  love!   plain  arrogance,  plain  insolence! 
Thy  men  are  cowards;   thou,  an  envious  traitor; 
Who,  under  seeming  honesty,  hast  vented 
380  The  burden  of  thy  rank,  o'erflowing  gall. 
O  that  thou  wert  my  equal;   great  in  arms 
As  the  first  Caesar  was,  that  I  might  kill  thee 
Without  a  stain  to  honor! 

Vent.  Y'ou  may  kill  me; 


ACT  I  249 

You  have  done  moro  already, — call'd  nie  traitor. 

Ant.     Art  thou  not  one? 

Vent.  For  showing  you  yourself, 

Which  none  else  durst  have  done?     But  had  I  been 
That  name,  which  I  disdain  to  speak  again, 
I  needed   not   have   sought  your   abject    fortunes, 
Come  to  partake  your  fate,  to  die  with  you. 
390  What  hinder'd  me  t'  have  led  my  conqu'ring  eagles 
To  fill  Oetavius'  bands?     I  could  have  been 
A  traitor  then,  a  glorious,  happy  traitor, 
And  not  have  been  so  call'd. 

Ant.  Forgive  me,  soldier; 

I've  been  too  passionate. 

Vent.  You  thought  mo  false ; 

Thought  my  old  age  betray'd  you.  Kill  mo,  sir; 
Pray  kill  me;  yet  you  need  not,  your  unkindness 
Has  left  your  sword  no  work. 

Ant.  I  did  not  think  so; 

I  said  it  in  my  rage :  pr'ythee  forgive  me. 
Why  didst  thou  tempt  my  anger,  by  discovery 
400  Of  what  I  would  not  hear? 

Vent.  No  prince  but  you 

Could  merit  that  sincerity  I  us'd, 
Nor  durst  another  man  have  ventur'd  it ; 
But  you,  ere  love  misled  your  wand'ring  eyes. 
Were  sure  the  chief  and  best  of  human  race, 
Fram'd  in  the  very  pride  and  boast  of  nature; 
So  perfect  that  the  gods,  who  form'd  you,  wonder'd 
At  their  own  skill,  and  cried:      '"A  lucky  hit 
Has  mended  our  design."     Their  envy  hinder'd, 
Else  you  had  been  immortal,  and  a  pattern, 
410  When  heav'n  would  work  for  ostentation  sake, 
To  copy  out  again. 

Ant.  But  Cleopatra — 

Go  on;  for  I  can  bear  it  now. 

Vent.  No  more. 

Ant.     Thou  dar'st  not  trust  my  passion,  but  thou  may'st; 
Thou  only  lov'st,  the  rest  have  flatter'd  me. 

Ve7it.     Heav'n's  blessing  on  your  heart  for  that  kind  word! 
May  I  believe  you  love  me?     Speak  again. 

Ant.     Indeed  I  do.     Speak  this,  and  this,  and  this.      [Hugging  him. 
Thy  praises  were  unjust;  but  I'll  deserve   'em. 
And  yet  mend  all.     Do  with  me  what  thou  wilt; 
420  Lead  me  to  victory!   thou  know'st  the  way. 

Vent.     And, — will  you  leave  this 

Ant.  Pr'ythee,  do  not  curse  her, 

And  I  will  leave  lier ;  tlio',  heav'n  knows,  I  love 


410.     ostentation]   QqF.     ostentation's  SsM. 


250  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

Beyond   life,   conquest,   empire,  all   but   honor; 
But  I  will  leave  her. 

Vent.  That's  my  royal  master; 

And  shall  we  fight? 

Ant.  I  warrant  thee,  old  soldier, 

Thou  shalt  behold  me  once  again  in  iron ; 
And  at  the  head  of  our  old  troops,  that  beat 
The  Parthians,  cry  aloud:      "Come,   follow  me!" 

Vent.    O,  now  I  hear  my  emperor!  in  that  word 
430  Octavius  fell.     Gods,  let  me  see  that  day. 
And,  if  I  have  ten  years  behind,  take  all: 
I'll  thank  you  for  th'  exchange. 

Ant.  O  Cleopatra! 

Ve7it.     Again? 

A7it.  I've  done:   in  that  last  sigh,  she  went. 

Cfesar  shall  know  what  'tis  to  force  a  lover 
From  all  he  holds  most  dear. 

Vent.  Methinks,  you  breathe 

Another  soul:  your  looks  are  more  divine; 
You  speak  a  hero,  and  you  move  a  god. 

Ant.     O,  thou  hast  fir'd  me;  my  soul  's  up  in  arms, 
And  mans  each  part  about  me.     Once  again 
440  That  noble  eagerness  of  fight  has  seiz'd  me; 
That  eagerness  with  which  I  darted  upward 
To  Cassius'  camp:  in  vain  the  steepy  hill 
Oppos'd  my  way;   in  vain  a  war  of  spears 
Sung  round  my  head,  and  planted  all  my  shield; 
I  won  the  trenches,  while  my  foremost  men 
Lagg'd  on  the  plain  below. 

Ve7it.  Ye  gods,  ye  gods. 

For  such  another  hour! 

Aiit.  Come  on,   my   soldier! 

Our  hearts  and  arms  are  still  the  same:     I  long 
Once  more  to  meet  our  foes ;  that  thou  and  I, 
450  Like  time  and  death,  marching  before  our  troops. 
May  taste  fate  to  'em;  mow  'em  out  a  passage, 

And,  ent'ring  where  the  foremost  squadrons  yield, 

Begin  the  noble  harvest  of  the  field.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  II 

Cleopatra,  Iras,  and  Alexas. 

Cleo.     What  shall  I  do,  or  whither  shall   I  turn? 
Ventidius  has  o'ercome,  and  he  will  go. 
Alex.     He  goes  to  fight  for  you. 

425.     soldier,]    QqF.     soldier.   SsM. 

444.      all]   QqF.     on  SsM. 

447.     hour]  Q1Q2.     honour  Q3FSsM. 


ACT  II  251 

Cleo.     Then  he  would  see  me,  ere  he  went  to  fight. 
Flatter  me  not :  if  once  he  goes,  he  's  lost. 
And  all  my  hopes  destroy'd. 

Alex.  Does  this  weak   passion 

Become  a  mighty  queen? 

Cleo.  I  am  no   queen : 

Is  this  to  be  a  queen,  to  be  besieg'd 
By  yon  insulting  Roman,  and  to  wait 
10  Each  hour  the  victor's  chain?     These  ills  arc  small; 
For  Antony  is  lost,  and  I  can  mourn 
For  nothing  else  but  him.     Now  come,  Octavius, 
I  have  no  more  to  lose!   prepare  thy  bands; 
I"m  fit  to  be  a  captive:  Antony 
Has  taught  my  mind  the  fortune  of  a  slave. 

Iras.     Call  reason  to  assist  you. 

Cleo.  I  have  none. 

And  none  would  have :  my  love  's  a  noble  madness. 
Which  shows  the  cause  descrv'd  it.     Moderate  sorrow 
Fits  vulgar  love,  and  for  a  vulgar  man : 
20  But  I  have  lov"d  with  such  transcendent  passion, 
I  soar'd,  at  first,  quite  out  of  reason's  view, 
And  now  am  lost  above  it. — No,  I'm  proud! 
'Tis  thus:   would  Antony  could  see  me  now! 
Think  you  he  would  not  sigh,  tho'  he  must  leave  mc? 
Sure  he  would  sigh;  for  he  is  noble-natur'd. 
And  bears  a  tender  heart :     I  know  him  well. 
Ah,  no,  I  know  him  not ;  I  knew  him  once, 
But  now  'tis  past. 

Iras.  Let  it  be  past  with  you: 

Forget  him,  madam. 

Cleo.  Never,  never,  Iras. 

30  He  once  was  mine;  and  once,  tho'  now  'tis  gone, 
Leaves  a  faint  image  of  possession  still. 

Alex.     Think   him  unconstant,  cruel,   and  ungrateful. 

Cleo.     I  cannot:  if  I  could,  those  thoughts  were  vain. 
Faithless,  ungrateful,  cruel  tho'  he  be, 
I  still  must  love  him.  [Enter  Charmion. 

Now,  what  news,  my  Charmion? 
Will  he  be  kind?  and  will  he  not  forsake  me? 
Am  I  to  live,  or  die? — nay,  do  I  live? 
Or  am  I  dead?  for  when  he  gave  his  answer, 
Fate  took  the  word,  and  then  I  liv'd  or  died. 
40         Char.     I   found  him,  madam 

Cleo.  A    long   speech   preparing! 

If  thou  bring'st  comfort,  haste,  and  give  it  mc. 
For  never  was  more  need. 

Ira-f.  I  know  he  loves  you. 


vnconstant]  QqF.     inconstant  SsM. 


252  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Cleo.     Had  he  been  kind,  her  eyes  had  told  me  so, 
Before  her  tongue  could  speak  it:  now  she  studies, 
To  soften  what  he  said;  but  give  me  death, 
Just  as  he  sent  it,  Charmion,  undisguis'd, 
And  in  the  words  he  spoke. 

Char.  I   found   him,   then, 

Incompass'd  round,  I  think,  with  iron  statues; 
So  mute,  so  motionless  his  soldiers  stood, 
50  While  awfully  he  cast  his  eyes  about, 

And  ev'ry  leader's  hopes  or  fears  survey'd: 
Methought  he  look'd  resolv'd,  and  yet  not  plcas'd. 
When  he  beheld  me  struggling  in  the  crowd, 
He  blush'd,  and  bade  make  way. 

Alex.  There's  comfort  yet. 

Char.     Ventidius  fix'd  his  eyes  upon  my  passage 
Severely,  as  he  meant  to  frown  me  back. 
And  sullenly  gave  place:     I  told  my  message. 
Just  as  you  gave  it,  broken  and  disorder'd; 
I  number 'd  in  it  all  your  sighs  and  tears; 
60  And  while  I  mov'd  your  pitiful  request, 
That  you  but  only  begg'd  a  last  farewell. 
He  fetch'd  an  inward  groan;   and  ev'ry  time 
I  nam'd  you,  sigh'd,  as  if  his  heart  were  breaking, 
But  shunn'd  my  eyes,  and  guiltily  look'd  down: 
He  seem'd  not  now  that  awful  Antony, 
Who  shook  an  arm'd  assembly  with  his  nod; 
But,  making  show  as  he  would  rub  his  eyes, 
Disguis'd  and  blotted  out  a  falling  tear. 

Cleo.    Did  he  then  weep?     And  was  I  worth  a  tear? 
70  If  what  thou  hast  to  say  be  not  as  pleasing. 
Tell  me  no  more,  but  let  me  die  contented. 

Char.     He  bid  me  say,  he  knew  himself  so  well, 
He  could  deny  you  nothing,  if  he  saw  you; 
And  therefore 

Cleo.  Thou  wouldst  say,  he  would  not  see  mel 

Char.     And  therefore  begg'd  you  not  to  use  a  power, 
W^hich  he  could  ill  resist;  yet  he  should  ever 
Eespect  you,  as  he  ought. 

Cleo.  Is  that  a  word 

For  Antony  to  use  to  Cleopatra? 
O  that  faint  word,  respect!  how  I  disdain  it! 
80  Disdain  myself,  for  loving  after  it! 

He  should  have  kept  that  word  for  cold  Octavia. 
Respect  is  for  a  wife :   am  I  that  thing, 
That  dull,  insipid  lump,  without  desires, 
And  without  pow'r  to  give  'em? 

Alex,  You  misjudge; 

You  see  thro'  love,  and  that  deludes  your  sight; 
Aa,  what  is  straight,  seems  crooked  thro'  the  water: 


ACT  II  253 

But   I,  who  bear  my  reason  undisturb'd, 
Can  see  this  Antony,  this  dreaded  man, 
A  fearful  slave,  who  fain  would  run  away, 
80  And  shuns  his  master's  eyes:   if  you  pursue  him, 
My  life  on  't,  he  still  drags  a  chain  along. 
That  needs  must  clog  his  flight. 

Cleo.  Could  I  believe  thee! — 

Alex.     By  cv'ry  circumstance  I  know  he  loves. 
True,  he  's  hard  press' d,  by  int'rest  and  by  honor; 
Yet  he  but  doubts,  and  parleys,  and  easts  out 
Many  a  long  look  for  succor. 

Cleo.  He  sends  word, 

He  fears  to  see  my  face. 

Alex.  And  would  you  morel 

He  shows  his  weakness  who  declines  the  combat, 
And  you  must  urge  your  fortune.     Could  he  speak 
100  More  plainly?     To  my  ears,  the  message  sounds: 
"Come  to  my  rescue,  Cleopatra,  come; 
Come,  fiee  me  from  Ventidius;   from  my  tyrant: 
See  me,  and  give  me  a  pretense  to  leave  him!" 
I  hear  his  trumpets.     This  way  he  must  pass. 
Please  you,   retire  a   while;    I'll   work  him   first. 
That  he  may  bend  more  easy. 

Cleo.  You  shall  rule  me; 

But  all,  I  fear,  in  vain.  [Exit  with  Chaemion  and  Iras. 

Alex.  I  fear  so  too; 

Tho'  I  conceal'd  my  thoughts,  to  make  her  bold; 
But  'tis  our  utmost  means,  and  fate  befriend  it!  [Withdraws. 

Enter  Lictors  with  Fasces,  one  hearing  the  Eagle;  then  enter 
Antony  with  Ventidius,  follow'd  by  other  Commanders. 

110        Ant.     Octavius  is  the  minion  of  blind  chance, 

But  holds  from  virtue  nothing. 

Vent.  Has  he  courage? 

Ant.     But  just  enough  to  season  him  from  coward. 

O,  'tis  the  coldest  youth  upon  a  charge. 

The  most  deliberate  fighter!   if  he  ventures 

(As  in  Illyria  once  they  say  he  did, 

To  storm  a  town),  'tis  when  he  cannot  choose; 

When  all  the  world  have  fix'd  their  eyes  upon  him; 

And  then  he  lives  on  that  for  seven  years  after; 

But,  at  a  close  revenge  he  never  fails. 
120         Vent.     I  heard  you  challeng'd  him. 

Ant.  I  did,  Ventidius. 

What  think'st  thou  was  his  answer?     'Twas  so  tame!  — 

He  said,  he  had  more  ways  than  one  to  die; 

I  had  not. 

96.     look]   Ql.     lookt  Q2.        look't  Q3.     look'd  F. 
122.     than  one  to]  Q1Q2.     than  to  Q3F. 


254  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

Vent.     Poor! 

Ant.  He  has  more  ways  than  one; 

But  he  would  choose  'em  all  before  that  one. 

Fent.    He  first  would  choose  an  ague,  or  a  fever. 

Ant.     No;   it  must  be  an  ague,  not  a  fever; 
He  has  not  ^Yarmth  enough  to  die  by  that. 

Vent.     Or  old  age  and  a  bed. 

Ant.  Aye,  there's  his  choice, 

He  would  live,  like  a  lamp,  to  the  last  wink, 
130  And  crawl  upon  the  utmost  verge  of  life. 

0  Hercules!     Why  should  a  man  like  this, 

Who  dares  not  trust  his  fate  for  one  great  actiop. 
Be  all  the  care  of  heav'n?     Why  should  he  lord  it 
O'er  fourscore  thousand  men,  of  whom  each  one 
Is  braver  than  himself? 

Vent.  You    conquer  'd    for    him : 

Philippi  knows  it ;   there  you  shar'd  with  him 
That  empire  which  your  sword  made  all  your  own. 

Ant.     Fool  that  I  was,  upon  my  eagle's  wings 

1  bore  this  wren,  till  I  was  tir'd  with  soaring, 
140  And  now  he  mounts  above  me. 

Good  heav'ns,  is  this,  is  this  the  man  who  braves  me? 
Who  bids  my  age  make  way?     Drives  me  before  him, 
To  the  world's  ridge,  and  sweeps  me  off  like  rubbish? 

Vent.     Sir,  we  lose  time;   the  troops  are  mounted  all. 

Ant.     Then  give  the  word  to  march: 
I  long  to  leave  this  prison  of  a  town. 
To  join  thy  legions;   and,  in  open  field. 
Once  more  to  show  my  face.    Lead,  my  deliverer. 

Enter  Alexas. 

Alex.     Great  emperor, 
150  In  mighty  arms  renown'd  above  mankind. 
But,  in  soft  pity  to  th'  oppress'd,  a  god; 
This  message  sends  the  mournful  Cleopatra 
To  her  departing  lord. 

Vent.  Smooth  sycophant! 

Alex.    A  thousand  wishes,  and  ten  thousand  prayers. 
Millions  of  blessings  wait  you  to  the  wars; 
Millions  of  sighs  and  tears  she  sends  you  too. 
And  would  have  sent 
As  many  dear  embraces  to  your  arms. 
As  many  parting  kisses  to  your  lips; 
160  But  those,  she  fears,  have  wearied  you  already. 

Vent.  [Aside.]     False  crocodile! 

Alex.    And  yet  she  begs  not  now,  you  would  not  leave  her; 
That  were  a  wish  too  mighty  for  her  hopes. 
Too  presuming  for  her  low  fortune,  and  your  ebbing  love; 
That  were  a  wish  for  her  more  prosp'rous  days, 


ACT   II  255 

Her  blooming  beauty,  and  your  growing  kinilness. 

Ant.  [Aside.]     Well,  I  must  man  it  out!     What  would  the  queen? 

Alex.     First,  to  these  noble  warriors,  who  attend 
Your  daring  courage  in  the  chase  of  fame 
170  (Too  daring,  and  too  dang 'reus  for  her  quiet), 
She  humbly  recommends  all  she  holds  dear. 
All  her  own  cares  and  fears, — the  care  of  you. 

Vent.     Yes,  witness  Actium. 

Ant.  Let  him  speak,  Ventidius. 

Alex.     You,  when  his  matchless  valor  bears  hini  forward, 
With  ardor  too  heroic,  on  his  foes, 
Fall  down,  as  she  would  do,  before  his  feet; 
Lie  in  his  way,  and  stop  the  paths  of  death: 
Tell  him,  this  god  is  not  invulnerable; 
That  absent  Cleopatra  bleeds  in  him; 
180  And,  that  you  may  remember  her  petition. 
She  begs  you  wear  these  trifles,  as  a  pawn. 
Which,  at  your  wish'd  return,  she  will  redeem 

[Giles  jewels  to  the  Commanders, 

With  all  the  wealth  of  Egypt: 
This  to  the  great  Ventidius  she  presents, 
Whom  she  can  never  count  her  enemy. 
Because  he  loves  her  lord. 

Vent.  Tell  her,  I'll  none  ou't; 

I'm  not  asham'd  of  honest  poverty; 
Not  all  the  diamonds  of  the  Ilast  can  bribe 
Ventidius  from  his  faith.     I  hope  to  see 
190  These  and  the  rest  of  all  her  sparkling  store, 
Where  they  shall  more  deservingly  be  plac'd. 

Ant.     And  who  must  wear  "em  then? 

Vent.  The  wrong'd  Octavia. 

Ajit.     You  might  have  spar'd  that  word. 

Vent.  And  he  that  bribe. 

Ant.     But  have  I  no  remembrance? 

Alex.  Yes,  a  dear  one; 

Your  slave  the  queen — 

Ant.  My  mistress. 

Alex.  Then  your  mistress; 

Your  mistress  would,  she  says,  have  sent  her  soul, 
But  that  you  had  long  since ;  she  humbly  begs 
This  ruby  bracelet,  set  with  bleeding  hearts 

(The  emblems  of  her  own),  may  bind  your  arm.     [Presenting  a  bracelet. 
200         Vent.     Now,  my  best  lord,  in  honor's  name,  I  ask  you, 
For  manhood's  sake,  and  for  you  own  dear  safety, 
Touch  not  these  poison'd  gifts. 
Infected  by  the  sender;  touch  'em  not; 
Myriads  of  bluest  plagues  lie  underneath  "em. 
And  more  than  aconite  has  dipp'd  the  silk. 

Ant.     Nay,  now  you  grow  too  cynical,  Ventidius: 


256  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

A  lady's  favors  may  be  worn  with  honor. 
What,  to  refuse  her  bracelet!     On  my  soul, 
When  I  lie  pensive  in  my  tent  alone, 
210  'Twill  pass  the  vvak:fu    hours  of  winter  nights. 
To  tell  these  pretty  I  eads  upon  my  arm. 
To  count  for  every  one  a  soft  embrace, 
A  melting  kiss  at  such  and  such  a  time: 
And  now  and  then  the  fury  of  her  love. 
When And  what  harm's  in  this? 

Alex.  None,  none,  my  lord, 

But  what's  to  her,  that  now  'tis  past  for  ever. 

Ant.     [Going  to  tie  it.]     We  soldiers  are  so  awkward — help  me  tie  it. 

Alex.     In  faith,  my  lord,  we  courtiers  too  are  awkward 
In  these  affairs:   so  are  all  men  indeed; 
220  Ev'n  I,  who  am  not  one.    But  shall  I  speak? 

Ant.     Yes,  freely. 

Alex.  Then,  my  lord,  fair  hands  alone 

Are  fit  to  tie  it;  she  who  sent  it  can. 

Vent.     Hell,  death!  this  eunuch  pander  ruins  you. 
You  will  not  see  her? 

[Alexas  whispers  an  Attendant,  who  goes  ovt. 

Ant.  But  to   take  my  leave. 

Vent.     Then  I  have  wash'd  an  Ethiop.     Yare  undone; 
Y'are  in  the  toils;  y'are  taken;  y'are  destroy'd: 
Her  eyes  do  Caesar's  work. 

Ant.  You  fear  too  soon. 

I'm  constant  to  myself :    I  know  my  strength ; 
And  yet  she  shall  not  think  me  barbarous  neither, 
230  Born  in  the  depths  of  Af ric :    I'm  a  Roman, 
Bred  to  the  rules  of  soft  humanity. 
A  guest,  and  kindly  us'd,  should  bid  farewell. 

Veiit.     You  do  not  know 
How  weak  you  are  to  her,  how  much  an  infant; 
You  are  not  proof  against  a  smile,  or  glance; 
A  sigh  will  quite  disarm  you. 

Ant.  See,  she  comes! 

Now  you  shall  find  your  error.     Gods,  I  thank  you : 
I  form'd  the  danger  greater  than  it  was, 
And  now  'tis  near,  'tis  lessen'd. 

Vent.  Mark  the  end  yet. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmion,  and  Iras. 

240        Ant.     Well,  madam,  we  are  met. 

Cleo.  Is  this   a   meeting? 

Then  we  must  part? 

Ant.  We  must. 

Cleo.  Who  says  we  must? 

225.     Y'are]  QqF.     You're  SsM. 
231.     to]   QqF.     in   SsM. 


ACT   II  257 

Ant.     Our  own  hard  fates. 

Cleo.  We  make  those  fates  ourselves. 

Ant.     Yes,  we  have  made  'em;  we  have  lov'd  each  other 
Into  our  mutual  ruin. 

Cleo.     The  gods  have  seen  my  joys  with  envious  eyes; 
I  have  no  friends  in  heav'n;  and  all  the  world 
(As  'twere  the  bus'ness  of  mankind  to  part  us) 
Is  arm'd  against  my  love:  ev 'n  you  yourself 
Join  with  the  rest;  you,  you  are  arm'd  against  me. 
250        Ant.     I  will  be  justified  in  all  I  do 
To  late  posterity,  and  therefore  hear  me. 
If  I  mix  a  lie 

With  any  truth,  reproach  me  freely  with  it ; 
Else,  favor  me  with  silence. 

Cleo.  You  command  me, 

And  I  am  dumb. 

Vent.     I  like  this  well:    he  shows  authority. 

Ant.     That  I  derive  my  ruin 
From  you  alone 

Cleo.  O  heav'ns!     I  ruin  you! 

Ant,     You  promis'd  me  your  silence,  and  you  break  it 
260  Ere  I  have  scarce  begun. 

Cleo.  W^ell,  I   obey  you. 

Ant.     When  I  beheld  you  first,  it  was  in  Egypt, 
Ere  Caesar  saw  your  eyes;  you  gave  me  love, 
And  were  too  young  to  know  it ;  that  I  settled 
Your  father  in  his  throne,  was  for  your  sake; 
I  left  th'  acknowledgment  for  time  to  ripen. 
Caesar  stepp  'd  in,  and  with  a  greedy  hand 
Pluck'd  the  green  fruit,  ere  the  first  blush  of  red, 
Yet  cleaving  to  the  bough.     He  was  my  lord, 
And  was,  beside,  too  great  for  me  to  rival ; 
270  But  I  deserv'd  you  first,  tho'  he  enjoy'd  you. 
When,  after,  I  beheld  you  in  Cilicia, 
An  enemy  to  Rome,  I  pardon'd  you. 

Cleo.     1  clear'd  myself 

Ant.  Again  you  break  your  promise. 

I  lov'd  you  still,  and  took  your  weak  excuses, 
Took  you  into  my  bosom,  stain'd  by  Caesar, 
And  not  lialf  mine:  I  went  to  Egypt  with  you. 
And  hid  me  from  the  bus'ness  of  the  world. 

Shut  out  enquiring  nations  from  ray  sight,  '  *• 

To  give  whole  years  to  you. 
2S0         Vent.  [Aside.l    Yes,  to  your  shame  b«  "t  spoken. 

Ant.  How   I   lov'd. 


261,     262.      When  .  first,  Egypt eyca ; 

love,]  So  punctuated  la  Q1Q2.  Q.3F  place  only  a  comma  after 
eyes.  SsM  alter  the  sense  by  placing  a  period  after  Egypt  and  retaining  the 
•omma  after  cyca. 


258  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Witness,  ye  days  and  nights,  and  all  your  hours. 
That  danc'd  away  with  down  upon  your  feet. 
As  all  your  bus'ness  were  to  count  my  passion! 
One  day  pass'd  by,  and  nothing  saw  but  love; 
Another  came,  and  still  'twas  only  love: 
The  suns  were  wearied  out  with  looking  on, 
And  I  untir'd  with  loving. 
I  saw  you  ev'ry  day,  and  all  the  day; 
And  ev'ry  day  was  still  but  as  the  first, 
290  So  eager  was  I  still  to  see  you  more. 

Vent.     'Tis  all  too  true. 

Ant.  Fulvia,  my  wife,  grew  jealous. 

As  she  indeed  had  reason ;  rais'd  a  war 
In  Italy,  to  call  me  back. 

Vent.  But  yet 

You  went  not. 

Ant.  While  within  your  arms  I  lay. 

The  world  fell  mold'ring  from  my  hands  each  hour, 
And  left  me  scarce  a  grasp — I  thank  your  love  for  't. 

Vent.     Well  push'd:  that  last  was  home. 

Cleo.  Yet  may  I  speak 'i 

Ant.     If  I  have  urg'd  a  falsehood,  yes;  else,  not. 
Your  silence  says,  I  have  not.     Fulvia  died 
308  (Pardon,  you  gods,  with  my  unkindness  died); 
To  set  the  world  at  peace,  I  took  Octavia, 
This  Caesar's  sister;  in  her  pride  of  youth. 
And  flow'r  of  beauty,  did  I  wed  that  lady. 
Whom  blushing  I  must  praise,  because  I  left  her. 
You  callM;  my  love  obey'd  the  fatal  summons: 
This  rais'd  the  Koman  arms;  the  cause  was  yours, 
I  would  have  fought  by  land,  where  I  was  stronger; 
You  hinder'd  it:  yet,  when  I  fought  at  sea, 
Forsook  me  fighting;  and   (O  stain  to  honor! 
31)  O  lasting  shame!)    I  knew  not  that  I  fled; 
But  fled  to  follow  you. 

Vent.     What  haste  she  made  to  hoist  her  purple  sails! 
And,  to  appear  magnificent  in  flight. 
Drew  half  our  strength  away. 

Ant.  All  this  you  caus'd. 

And  would  you  multiply  more  ruins  on  me? 
This  honest  man,  my  best,  my  only  friend, 
Has  gather'd  up  the  shipwrack  of  my  fortunes; 
Twelve  legions  I  have  left,  my  last  recruits, 
And  you  have  watch'd  the  news,  and  bring  your  eyes 
?20  To  seize  them  too.     If  you  have  aught  to  answer. 

Now  speak,  you  have  free  leave.  ^ 

AJex.  [Aside.]  She  stands  confounded: 

Despair  is  in  her  eyes. 

281.     your  hours]  QqF.     ye  hours  SsM. 


ACT  II  259 

Vent.     Now  lay  a  sigh  i'  th'  way  to  stop  his  passage: 
Prepare  a  tear,  and  bid  it  for  his  legions; 
'Tis  like  they  shall  be  sold. 

Cleo.     How  shall  I  plead  my  cause,  when  you,  my  judge, 
Already  have  condemn'd  me?     Shall  I  bring 
The  love  you  bore  me  for  my  advocate? 
That  now  is  turn'd  against  me,  that  destroys  me; 
330  For  love,  once  past,  is  at  the  best  forgotten; 
But  oft'ner  sours  to  hate:   'twill  please  my  lord 
To  ruin  me,  and  therefore  I'll  be  guilty. 
But,  could  I  once  have  thought  it  would  have  pleas'd  you, 
That  you  would  pry,  with  narrow  searching  eyes, 
Into  my  faults,  severe  to  my  destruction. 
And  watching  all  advantages  with  care, 
That  serve  to  make  me  wretched  ?     Speak,-  my  lord, 
For  I  end  here.     Tho'  I  deserve  this  usage, 
Was  it  like  you  to  give  it? 

Ant.  O,  you  wrong  me, 

340  To  think  I  sought  this  parting,  or  desir'd 

To  accuse  you  more  than  what  will  clear  myself. 
And  justify  this  breach. 

Clco.  Thus  low  I  thank  you; 

And,  since  my  iunocence  will  not  offend, 
I  shall  not  blush  to  own  it. 

Vent.  After  this, 

I  think  she  '11  blush  at  nothing. 

Cleo.  You  seem  griev'd 

(And  therein  you  are  kind),  that  Caesar  first 
Enjoy'd  my  love,  tho'  you  deserv'd  it  better: 
I  grieve  for  that,  my  lord,  much  more  than  you; 
For,  had  I  first  been  yours,  it  would  have  sav'd 
350  My  second  choice:   I  never  had  been  his. 

And  ne'er  had  been  but  yours.     But  Caesar  first. 
You  say,  possess'd  my  love.     Not  so,  my  lord: 
He  first  possess'd  my  person;  you,  my  love: 
Caesar  lov'd  me;  but  I  lov'd  Antony. 
If  I  endur'd  him  after,  'twas  because 
I  judg'd  it  due  to  the  first  name  of  men; 
And,  half  constrain'd,  I  gave,  as  to  a  tyrant, 
What  he  would  take  by  force. 

Vent.  O  Siren!    Siren! 

Yet  grant  that  all  the  love  she  boasts  were  true, 
360  Has  she  not  ruin'd  youf     I  still  urge  that, 
The  fatal  consequence. 

Cleo.  The  consequence  indeed, 

For  I  dare  challenge  him,  my  greatest  foe, 
To  say  it  was  design'd :   'tis  true,  I  lov'd  you. 
And  kept  you  far  from  an  uneasy  wife, — 


338.     deaerie]  QqF.     deserved  SsM. 


260  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Such  Fulvia  was. 

Yes,  but  he'll  say,  you  left  Octavia  for  me; — 
And  can  you  blame  me  to  receive  that  love. 
Which  quitted  such  desert,  for  worthless  me? 
How  often  have  I  wish'd  some  other  Caesar, 
370  Great  as  the  first,  and  as  the  second  young, 
Would  court  my  love,  to  be  ref us  'd  for  you ! 

Vent.     Words,  words;  but  Actium,  sir;  remember  Actium, 
Cleo.     Ev'n  there,  I  dare  his  malice.     True,  I  counsel'd 
To  fight  at  sea;  but  I  betray'd  you  not. 
I  fled,  but  not  to  the  enemy.     'Twas  fear; 
Would  I  had  been  a  man,  not  to  have  fear'd! 
For  none  would  then  have  envied  me  your  friendship. 
Who  envy  me  your  love. 

Ant.  We're  both  unhappy; 

If  nothing  else,  yet  our  ill  fortune  parts  us. 
880  Speak;  would  you  have  me  perish  by  my  stay? 

Cleo.     If,  as  a  friend,  you  ask  my  judgment,  go; 
If,  as  a  lover,  stay.     If  you  must  perish — 
'Tis  a  hard  word — but  stay. 

Vent.     See  now  th'  effects  of  her  so  boasted  love! 
She  strives  to  drag  you  down  to  ruin  with  her; 
But,  could  she  scape  without  you,  0,  how  soon 
Would  she  let  go  her  hold,  and  haste  to  shore. 
And  never  look  behind ! 

Cleo.     Then  judge  my  love  by  this.  [Giving  Antony  a  writing. 

Could  I  have  borne 
390  A  life  or  death,  a  happiness  or  woe, 

From  yours  divided,  this  had  giv'n  me  means. 

Ant.     By  Hercules,  the  writing  of  Octavius! 
I  know  it  well:  'tis  that  proscribing  hand. 
Young  as  it  was,  that  led  the  way  to  mine, 
And  left  me  but  the  second  place  in  murder. — 
See,  see,  Ventidius!  here  he  offers  Egypt, 
And  joins  all  Syria  to  it,  as  a  present; 
So,  in  requital,  she  forsake  my  fortunes. 
And  join  her  arms  with  his. 

Cleo.  And  yet  you  leave  me! 

400  You  leave  me,  Antony;  and  yet  I  love  you, 
Indeed  I  do:  I  have  refus'd  a  kingdom; 
That's  a  trifle; 

For  I  could  part  with  life,  with  anything. 
But  only  you.     O  let  me  die  but  with  you! 
Is  that  a  hard  request? 

Ant.  Next  living  with  you, 

'Tis  all  that  heav'n  can  give. 

Alex.  [Aside.]  He  melts;  we  conquer. 

Cleo.     No;  you  shall  go:  your  int'rest  calls  you  hence; 


393.     proscribing]   Ql.     prescribing  Q2Q3F. 


ACT  II 


261 


Yes;  your  dear  interest  pulls  too  strong  for  these 
Weak  arms  to  hold  you  here. 

Go ;   leave  me,  soldier 
410  (For  you're  no  more  a  lover):   leave  me  dying: 
Push  me,  all  pale  and  panting,  from  your  bosom, 
And,  when  your  march  begins,  let  one  run  after. 
Breathless  almost  for  joy,  and  cry:    "She's  dead." 
The  soldiers  shout;  you  then,  perhaps,  may  sigh, 
And  muster  all  your  Roman  gravity: 
Yentidius  chides;   and  straight  your  brow  clears  up, 
As  I  had  never  been. 

Ant.  Gods,    'tis  too  much; 

Too  much  for  man  to  bear. 

Cleo.  What  is    't   for  me  then, 

A  weak,  forsaken  woman,  and  a  lover? — 
420  Here  let  me  breathe  my  last:   envy  me  not 
This  minute  in  your  arms:  I'll  die  apace. 
As  fast  as  e'er  I  can,  and  end  your  trouble. 

Ant.     Die!   rather  let  me  perish;   loosen'd  nature 
Leap  from  its  hinges,  sink  the  props  of  heav'n. 
And  fall  the  skies,  to  crush  the  nether  world! 
My  eyes,  my  soul,  my  all! 

Vent.  And  what's  this  toy, 

In  balance  with  your  fortune,  honor,  fame? 

Ant.     What  is  't,  Yentidius? — it  outweighs  'em  all; 
"Why,  we  have  more  than  conquer'd  Ca?sar  now: 
430  ^ly  queen's  not  only  innocent,  but  loves  me. 
This,  this  is  she,  who  drags  me  down  to  ruin! 
But,  could  she  scape  without  me,  with  what  haste 
Would  she  let  slip  her  hold,  and  make  to  shore, 
And  never  look  behind ! 

Down  on  thy  knees,  blasphemer  as  thou  art, 
And  ask  forgiveness  of  wrong'd  innocence. 

Vent.     I'll  rather  die,  than  take  it.     Will  you  go? 

Ant.     Go!   whither?     Go  from  all  that's  excellent! 
Faith,  honor,  virtue,  all  good  things  forbid 
That  I  should  go  from  her,  who  sets  my  love 
Above  the  price  of  kingdoms.     Give,  you  gods, 
Give  to  your  boy,  your  Ca;sar, 
This  rattle  of  a  globe  to  play  withal. 
This  gewgaw  world,  and  put  him  cheaply  off: 
I'll  not  be  pleas'd  with  less  than  Cleopatra. 

Cleo.     She's  wholly  yours.     ;My  heart's  so  full  of  joy, 
That  I  shall  do  some  wild  extravagance 
Of  love,  in  public;  and  the  foolish  world, 
Which  knows  not  tenderness,  will  think  me  mad. 


[Takes  his  hand. 


[Embraces  her. 


417,  41S.     .Is  7      .      .      .      mc  1hen^.     In  QqFSsM  Antony's  speech  Is  made 
one  complete  line,  Cleopatra's  specctics  dose  and  begin  with  hemisticbs. 
440.     Slic's]   F.     j!>7ic  Qq,  probably  by  a  mere  misprint. 


^62  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

450        Vent.     O  women!  ■women!  women!  all  the  gods 

Have  not  such  pow'r  of  doing  good  to  man, 

As  you  of  doing  harm.  [Exit. 

Ant.  Our  men  are  arm'd. 

Unbar  the  gate  that  looks  to  Cfesar's  camp: 

I  would  revenge  the  treachery  he  meant  me; 

And  long  security  makes  conquest  easy. 

I  'm  eager  to  return  before  I  go ; 

For  all  the  pleasures  I  have  known  beat  thick 

On  my  remembrance. — How  I  long  for  night ! 
That  both  the  sweets  of  mutual  love  may  try, 
460        And  once  triumph  o'er  Caesar  ere  we  die.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III 

At  one  door  enter  Cleopatra,  Charmion,  Iras,  and  Alexas,  a  Train  of 
Egyptians;  at  the  other,  Antony  and  Romans.  The  entrance  on 
hoth  sides  is  prepafd  by  music;  the  trumpets  first  sounding  on 
Antony's  part:  then  answer' d  by  timbrels,  ^c,  on  Cleopatra's. 
Charmion  and  Iras  hold  a  laurel  wreath  betwixt  them.  A 
Dance  of  Egyptians.  After  the  ceremony,  Cleopatra  crowns 
Antony. 

Ant.     1  thought  how  those  white  arms  would  fold  me  in. 
And  strain  me  close,  and  melt  me  into  love; 
So,  pleas'd  with  that  sweet  image,  I  sprung  forwards, 
And  added  all  my  strength  to  every  blow. 

Cleo.     Come  to  me,  come,  my  soldier,  to  my  arms! 
You've  been  too  long  away  from  my  embraces; 
But,  when  I  have  you  fast,  and  all  my  own. 
With  broken  murmurs,  and  with  amorous  sighs, 
I'll  say  you  were  unkind,  and  punish  you, 
10  And  mark  you  red  Avith  many  an  eager  kiss. 

Atit.     My  brighter  Venus! 

Cleo.  O  my  greater  Mars! 

Ant.     Thou  join'st  us  well,  my  love! 
Suppose  me  come  from  the  Phlegrsean  plains. 
Where  gasping  giants  lay,  cleft  by  my  sword. 
And  mountain-tops  par'd  off  each  other  blow. 
To  bury  those  I  slew.     Eeceive  me.  goddess! 
Let  Caesar  spread  his  subtile  nets,  like  Vulcan; 
In  thy  embraces  I  would  be  beheld 
By  heav'n  and  earth  at  once; 

460.  And  once  triumph  o'er  Ccesar  ere  ice  diel  Q2Q3F.  Ql  omits  ere. 
And  triumph  once,  etc.   SsM. 

15.      jxtr'd]    QqF.     paired  SsM. 

17.  subtile]  Ql.  subtle  Q2Q.'?FSsM.  QqF  have  commas  after  both  nets 
and  Vulcan;  SsM  injure  the  sense  by  putting  a  semicolon  after  nets  and 
retaining  the  comma  after  Vulcan. 


ACT  III  263 

20  And  make  their  envy  what  they  meant  their  sport. 
Let  those  who  took  us  blush ;   I  would  love  on 
With  awful  state,  regardless  of  their  frowns, 
As  their  superior  god. 
There's  no  satiety  of  love  in  thee: 
Enjoy'd,  thou  still  art  new;  perpetual  sjjring 
Is  in  thy  anns;  the  ripen'd  fruit  but  falls, 
And  blossoms  rise  to  fill  its  empty  place; 
And  I  grow  rich  by  giving. 

Enter  Ventidius,  aitd  stands  apart. 

Alex.     O,  now  the  danger's  past,  your  general  comes! 
30  lie  joins  not  in  your  joys,  nor  minds  your  triumphs; 
But,  with  contracted  brows,  looks  frowning  on, 
As  envying  your  success. 

Ant.     Now,  on  my  soul,  he  loves  me;  truly  loves  me: 
He  never  flatter'd  me  in  any  vice, 
But  awes  me  with  his  virtue :  ev'n  this  minute 
Methinks  he  has  a  right  of  chiding  me. 
Lead  to  the  temple:  I'll  avoid  his  presence; 

It  checks  too  strong  upon  me.  [Exeunt  the  rest. 

[As  Antony  is  going,  Ventidius  pulls  liim  by  the  robe. 

Vent.  Emperor! 

Ant.   [Looking  back.]    'Tis  the  old  argument;   I  pr'ythee,  spare  me. 
40         Vent.     But  this  one  hearing,  emperor. 

Ant.  Let  go 

My  robe;  or,  by  my  father  Hercules 

Vent.     By  Hercules  his  father,  that's  yet  greater, 
I  bring  you  somewhat  you  would  wish  to  know. 

Ant.     Thou  see'st  we  are  observ'd;  attend  me  here, 
And  I'll  return.  [Exit, 

Vent.     I'm  waning  in  his  favor,  yet  I  love  him; 
I  love  this  man,  who  runs  to  meet  his  ruin ; 
And  sure  the  gods,  like  me,  are  fond  of  him: 
His  virtues  lie  so  mingled  .with  his  crimes, 
50  As  would  confound  their  choice  to  punish  one, 
And  not  reward  the  other. 

Enter  Antony. 

Ant.  We  can  conquer. 

You  see,  without  your  aid. 
We  have  dislodg'd  their  troops; 
They  look  on  us  at  distance,  and,  like  curs 
Scap'd  from  the  lion's  paws,  they  bay  far  off, 
And  lick  their  wounds,  and  faintly  threaten  war. 
Five  thousand  Romans,  with  their  faces  upward, 
Lie  breathless  on  the  plain. 

Vent.  'Tis  well;  and  he, 


42.     IIcrcuh8  his]  QqF.     Hercules'  SsXI. 


264  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Who  lost  'em,  could  have  spar'd  ten  thousand  more. 
60  Yet  if,  by  this  advantage,  you  could  gain 
An  easier  peace,  while  Caesar  doubts  the  chance 
Of  arms 

Ant.  O,  think  not  on   't,  Ventidius! 

The  boy  pursues  my  ruin;  he'll  no  peace: 
His  malice  is  considerate  in  advantage. 
O,  he's  the  coolest  murderer!  so  stanch, 
He  kills,  and  keeps  his  temper. 

Vent.  Have  you  no  friend 

In  all  his  army,  who  has  power  to  move  him? 
Maecenas,  or  Agrippa,  might  do  much. 

Ant.     They're  both  too  deep  in  Casar's  interests. 
70  We'll  work  it  out  by  dint  of  sword,  or  perish. 

Vent.     Fain  I  would  find  some  other. 

Arit.  Thank  thy  love. 

Some  four  or  five  such  victories  as  this 
Will  save  thy  farther  pains. 

Vent.     Expect  no  more;  Caesar  is  on  his  guard: 
I  know,  sir,  you  have  conquer'd  against  odds; 
But  still  you  draw  supplies  from  one  poor  town, 
And  of  Egyptians :  he  has  all  the  world. 
And,  at  his  back,  nations  come  pouring  in 
To  fill  the  gaps  you  make.     Pray  think  again. 
80        Ant.     Why  dost  thou  drive  me  from  myself,  to  search 
For  foreign  aids?  to  hunt  my  memory, 
And  range  all  o'er  a  waste  and  barren  place, 
To  find  a  friend?     The  wretched  have  no  friends. — 
Yet  I  had  one,  the  bravest  youth  of  Rome, 
Whom  Caesar  loves  beyond  the  love  of  women: 
He  could  resolve  his  mind,  as  fire  does  wax; 
From  that  hard  rugged  image  melt  him  down. 
And  mold  him  in  what  softer  form  he  pleas'd. 

Vent.     Him  would  I  see;  that  man  of  all  the  world; 
90  Just  such  a  one  we  want. 

Ant.  He  lov'd  me  too; 

I  was  his  soul;  he  liv'd  not  but  in  me: 
We  were  so  clos'd  within  each  other's  breasts, 
The  rivets  were  not  found  that  join'd  us  first. 
That  does  not  reach  us  yet:  we  were  so  mix'd. 
As  meeting  streams, — both  to  ourselves  were  lost; 
We  were  one  mass;  we  could  not  give  or  take. 
But  from  the  same;  for  he  was  I,  I  he. 

Vent.  [Aside.]    He  moves  as  I  would  wish  him. 

Ant.  After  this, 

I  need  not  tell  his  nUme:  'twas  Dolabella. 
100         Vent.     He's  now  in  Caesar's  camp. 

Ant.  No  matter  where, 

78.     back]  Qq.     beck  FSsM. 


ACT   III  265 

Since  he 's  no  longer  mine.     He  took  unkindly 

That  I  forbade  him  Cleopatra's  sight, 

Because  I  fear'd  he  lov'd  her:   he  confess 'd 

He  had  a  warmth,  which,  for  my  sake,  he  stifled; 

For  'twere  impossible  that  two,  so  one, 

Should  not  have  lov'd  the  same.     When  he  departed. 

He  took  no  leave;  and  that  confirm'd  my  thoughts. 

Vent.     It  argues  that  he  lov'd  you  more  than  her, 
Else  he  had  stay'd;  but  he  perceiv'd  you  jealous, 
110  And  would  not  grieve  his  friend:  I  know  he  loves  you. 
Ant.     I  should  have  seen  him,  then,  ere  now. 
Vent.  Perhaps 

He  has  thus  long  been  lab 'ring  for  your  peace. 
Ant.     Would  he  were  here! 

Vent.  Would  you  believe  he  lov'd  you? 

I  read  your  answer  in  your  eyes,  you  would. 
Not  to  conceal  it  longer,  he  has  sent 
A  messenger  from  Caesar's  camp,  with  letters. 
Ant.     Let  him  appear. 
Vent.  I'll  bring  him  instantly. 

[Exit  Ventidius,  and  reenters  immediately  icith  Dolabella. 
Ant.     'Tis  he  himself!  himself,  by  holy  friendship! 

[Runs  to  embrace  Mm. 
Art  thou  return'd  at  last,  my  better  half? 
120  Come,  give  me  all  myself!     Let  me  not  live. 
If  the  young  bridegroom,  longing  for  his  night, 
Was  ever  half  so  fond. 

Dola.     I  must  be  silent,  for  my  soul  is  busy 
About  a  nobler  work :  she's  new  come  home, 
Like  a  long  absent  man,  and  wanders  o'er 
Each  room,  a  stranger  to  her  own,  to  look 
If  all  be  safe. 

Ant.  Thou  hast  what's  left  of  me; 

For  I  am  now  so  sunk  from  what  I  was, 
Thou  find'st  me  at  my  lowest  water-mark. 
130  The  rivers  that  ran  in,  and  rais'd  my  fortunes, 
Are  all  dried  up,  or  take  another  course: 
What  I  have  loft  is  from  my  native  sjiring; 
I've  still  a  heart  that  swells,  in  scorn  of  fate. 
And  lifts  me  to  my  banks. 

Dola.     Still  you  are  lord  of  all  the  world  to  me. 
Ant.     Why,  then  I  yet  am  so;  for  thou  art  all. 
If  I  had  any  joy  when  thou  wert  absent, 
I  grudg'd  it  to  myself;  mcthought  I  robb'd 
Thee  of  thy  part.     But,  O  my  Dolabella! 
140  Tliou  hast  beheld  me  other  than  I  am. 

Hast  thou  not  seen  my  morning  chambers  fill'd 
With  scopter'd  slaves,  who  waited  to  salute  me? 
With  eastern  monarchs,  who  forgot  tiic  sun, 


266  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

To  ■worship  my  uprising?     Menial  kings 
Ran  coursing  up  and  down  my  palace  yard, 
Stood  silent  in  my  presence,  watch'd  my  eyes, 
And,  at  my  least  command,  all  started  out. 
Like  racers  to  the  goal. 

Dola.  Slaves  to  your  fortune. 

Ant.     Fortune  is  Caesar's  now;   and  what  am  I? 
150         Vent,     Wlmt  you  have  made  yourself;  I  will  not  flatter. 

Ant.     Ls  this  friendly  done? 

Dola.     Yes;  when  his  end  is  so,  I  must  join  with  him; 
Indeed  I  must,  and  yet  you  must  not  chide; 
Why  am  I  else  your  friend? 

Ant.  Take  heed,  young  man, 

How  thou  upbraid'st  my  love:   the  queen  has  eyes, 
And  thou  too  hast  a  soul.     Canst  tnou  remember, 
When,  swell'd  with  hatred,  thou  beheld'st  her  first, 
As  accessary  to  thy  brother's  death? 

Dola.     Spare  my  remembrance;  'twas  a  guilty  day, 
160  And  still  the  blush  hangs  here. 

Ant.  To  clear  herself, 

For  sending  him  no  aid,  she  came  from  Egypt. 
Her  galley  down  the  silver  Cydnos  row'd, 
The  tackling  silk,  the  streamers  wav'd  with  gold; 
The  gentle  winds  were  lodg'd  in  purple  sails: 
Her  nymphs,  like  Nereids,  round  her  couch  were  plac'd; 
Where  she,  another  sea-born  Venus,  lay. 

Dola.     No  more;  I  would  not  hear  it. 

Ant.  O,  you  must! 

She  lay,  and  leant  her  cheek  upon  her  hand, 
And  cast  a  look  so  languishingly  sweet, 
170  As  if,  secure  of  all  beholders'  hearts, 

Neglecting  she  could  take  'em:  boys,  like  Cupids, 
Stood  fanning  with  their  painted  wings  the  winds 
That  play'd  about  her  face:  but  if  she  smil'd, 
A  darting  glory  seem'd  to  blaze  abroad. 
That  men's  desiring  eyes  were  never  wearied, 
But  hung  upon  the  object.     To  soft  flutes 
The  silver  oars  kept  time;  and  while  they  play'd. 
The  hearing  gave  new  pleasure  to  the  sight; 
And  both  to  thought.     'Twas  heav'n,  or  somewhat  more: 
180  For  she  so  charm'd  all  hearts  that  gazing  crowds 
Stood  panting  on  the  shore  and  wanted  breath 
To  give  their  welcome  voice. 
Then,  Dolabella,  where  was  then  thy  soul? 
Was  not  thy  fury  quite  disarm'd  with  wonder? 
Didst  thou  not  shrink  behind  me  from  those  eyes. 
And  whisper  in  my  ear:     "O  tell  her  not 
That  I  accus'd  her  of  my  brother's  death?" 


145.     Ran]  Q1Q2.     Run  Q3F. 


ACT  III  267 


Dola.     And  should  my  weakness  be  a  plea  for  yours? 
Mine  was  an  age  when  love  might  be  excus'd, 
190  When  kindly  warmth,  and  when  my  springing  youth 

Made  it  a  debt  to  nature.     Yours 

Vent.  Speak  boldly. 

Vours,  he  would  say,  in  your  declining  age, 
When  no  more  heat  was  left  but  what  you  forc'd, 
When  all  the  sap  was  needful  for  the  trunk, 
When  it  went  down, — then  you  constrain  'd  the  course, 
And  robb'd  from  nature,  to  supply  desire; 
In  you  (I  would  not  use  so  harsh  a  word)  — 
But  'tis  plain  dotage. 
Ant.  Ha! 

Dola.  'Twas  urg'd  too  home. 

But  yet  the  loss  was  private  that  I  made; 
200  "Twas  but  myself  I  lost:   I  lost  no  legions; 
I  had  no  world  to  lose,  no  people's  love. 
Ant.     This  from  a  friend? 

Dola.  Yes,  Antony,  a  true  one; 

A  friend  so  tender,  that  each  word  I  speak 
Stabs  my  own  heart,  before  it  reach  your  ear. 
O,  judge  me  not  less  kind,  because  I  chide! 
To  Cajsar  I  excuse  you. 

Ant.  O  ye  gods! 

Have  I  then  liv'd  to  be  excus'd  to  Csesar? 
Dola.     As  to  your  equal. 

Ant.  Well,  he's  but  my  equal: 

210  While  I  wear  this,  he  never  shall  be  more. 
Dola.     I  bring  conditions  from  him. 
Ant.  Are  they  noble? 

Methinks  thou  shouldst  not  bring  'em  else;  yet  he 
Is  full  of  deep  dissembling;  knows  no  honor 
Divided  from  his  int'rest.     Fate  mistook  him; 
For  nature  meant  him  for  an  usurer: 
He's  fit  indeed  to  buy,  not  conquer  kingdoms. 

Vent.     Then,  granting  this, 
What  pow'r  was  theirs  who  wrought  so  hard  a  temper 
To  honorable  terms? 

Ant.     It  was  my  Dolabella,  or  some  god. 
220         Dola.     Nor  I,  nor  yet  Maecenas,  nor  Agrippa: 
They  were  your  enemies;  and  I,  a  friend, 


198.      But  -tis]  QqF.     'Tis  hut  SsM. 

20(5-10.  O  ye  .  .  .  from  him]  Ql.  Q2  garbles  the  passage  as  fol- 
lows : 

Ant.  O  ye  gods! 

Have  I  then  liv'd  to  be  excus'd  to  CcrsarT 

r)olla.  As  to  your  CQual: 

While  I  UTar  this,  he  never  shall  be  more. 

Delia.      /  bring  conditions   from   him. 

Q.'iF  retain  the  same  arranj,'('nu'nt,  but  restore  something  like  sense  by 
omittinB  the  second  Dolla.  This  passage  is  perhaps  siilVu-ient  proof  that 
Dryden  devoted  no  attention  to  the  proofreading  of  the  text  of  this  play  after 
the  publication  of  the  first  edition. 


2G8  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

Too  weak  alone;  vet  "twas  a  Eoman's  deed. 

Ant.     "Twas  like  a  Roman  done:   show  me  that  man, 
Who  has  preserv'd  my  life,  my  love,  iny  honor; 
Let  me  but  see  his  face. 

Vent.  That  task  is  mine, 

And,  Heav'n,  thou  know'st  how  pleasing.  [Exit  Ventidius. 

Dola.  You'll  remember 

To  whom  you  stand  oblig'd? 

A7it.  When  I  forget  it. 

Be  thou  unkind,  and  that's  my  greatest  curse. 
My  queen  shall  thank  him  too. 

Dola.  I  fear  she  will  not. 

230        Ant.     But  she  shall  do  't.     The  queen,  my  Dolabella! 
Hast  thou  not  still  some  grudgings  of  thy  fever? 

Dola.     I  would  not  see  her  lost. 

Ant.  When  I  forsake  her, 

Leave  me  my  better  stars!   for  she  has  truth 
Beyond  her  beauty.    Caesar  tempted  her, 
At  no  less  price  than  kingdoms,  to  betray  me ; 
But  she  resisted  all:  and  yet  thou  chid'st  me 
For  loving  her  too  well.     Could  I  do  so? 

Dola.     Yes;  there's  my  reason. 

Reenter  Ventidius,  with  Octavia,  leading  Antony's  two  little 

Daughters. 

Ant.  Where! — Octavia  there!    [Starting  hacTc. 

Vent.     What,  is  she  poison  to  you? — a  disease? 
240  Look  on  her,  view  her  well,  and  those  she  brings: 
Are  they  all  strangers  to  your  eyes?  has  nature 
No  secret  call,  no  whisper  they  are  yours? 

Dola.     For  shame,  my  lord,  if  not  for  love,  receive  'em 
With  kinder  eyes.     If  you  confess  a  man. 
Meet  'em,  embrace  'em,  bid  'em  welcome  to  you. 
Your  arms  should  open,  ev'n  without  your  knowledge. 
To  clasp  'em  in;  your  feet  should  turn  to  wings. 
To  bear  you  to  'em;  and  your  eyes  dart  out. 
And  aim  a  kiss,  ere  you  could  reach  the  lips. 
250        Ant.     I  stood  amaz'd,  to  think  how  they  came  hither. 

Vent.     I  sent  for  'em ;   I  brought  'em  in,  unknown 
To  Cleopatra's  guards. 

Dola.  Yet  are  you  cold? 

Octav.     Thus  long  I  have  attended  for  my  welcome; 
Which,  as  a  stranger,  sure  I  might  expect. 
Who  am  I? 

Ant.     Caesar's  sister. 

Octav.  That's  unkind. 

Had  I  be»n  nothing  more  than  Caesar's  sister, 

253.     /  have]  Qq.    have  I  F. 


ACT  III  J69 

Know,  I  had  still  remain'd  in  Ca?sar's  camp: 
But  your  Octavia,  your  much  injur'd  wife, 
Tho'  banish'd  from  your  bed,  driv'n  from  your  house, 
260  In  spite  of  Caesar's  sister,  still  is  yours. 

'Tis  true,  I  have  a  heart  disdains  your  coldness, 

And  prompts  me  not  to  seek  what  you  should  offer; 

But  a  wife's  virtue  still  surmounts  that  pride: 

I  come  to  claim  you  as  my  own;   to  show 

My  duty  first ;  to  ask,  nay  beg,  your  kindness. 

Your  hand,  my  lord;  "tis  mine,  and  I  will  have  it.         [Talcing  his  hand. 

Vent.     Do,  take  it;  thou  deserv'st  it. 

T)ola.  On  my  soul, 

And  so  she  does:  she's  neither  too  submissive. 
Nor  yet  too  haughty;  but  .so  just  a  mean 
270  Shows,  as  it  ought,  a  wife  and  Roman  too. 

Ant.     I  fear,  Octavia,  you  have  begg'd  my  life. 

Octav.     Begg'd  it,  my  lord? 

Ant.  Yes,  begg'd  it,  my  ambassadress; 

Poorly  and  basely  begg'd  it  of  your  brother. 

Octav.     Poorly  and  basely  I  could  never  beg: 
Nor  could  my  brother  grant. 

Ant.     Shall  I,  who,  to  my  kneeling  slave,  could  say, 
"Rise  up.  and  be  a  king;  "  shall  I  fall  down 
And  cry:    "Forgive  me,  Caesar!"     Shall  I  set 
A  man,  my  equal,  in  the  place  of  Jove, 
280  As  he  could  give  me  being?     No;  that  word, 
"Forgive,"  would  choke  me  up, 
And  die  upon  my  tongue. 

Dola.  You  shall  not  need  it. 

Ant.     I  will  not  need  it.     Come,  you've  all  betray'd  me: 
My  friend  too !   to  receive  some  vile  conditions. 
My  wife  has  bought  me,  with  her  prayers  and  tears; 
And  now  I  must  become  her  branded  slave. 
In  every  peevish  mood,  she  will  upbraid 
The  life  she  gave:  if  I  but  look  awry. 
She  cries:    "I'll  tell  my  brother." 

Octav.  My  hard  fortune 

290  Subjects  me  still  to  your  unkind  mistakes. 
But  the  conditions  I  have  brought  are  such 
You  need  not  blush  to  take:   I  love  your  honor, 
Because  'tis  mine;  it  never  shall  be  said, 
Octavia's  husband  was  her  brother's  slave. 
Sir,  you  are  free;  free,  ev'n  from  her  you  loathe; 
For,  tho'  my  brother  bargains  for  your  love, 
Makes  me  the  price  and  cement  of  your  peace, 
I  have  a  soul  like  yours;  I  cannot  take 
Your  love  as  alms,  nor  beg  what  I  deserve. 
300  I'll  tell  my  brother  we  are  reconcil'd; 

He  shall  draw  back  his  troops,  and  you  shall  march 


270  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

To  rule  the  East:  I  may  be  dropp'd  at  Athens; 
No  matter  where.     I  never  will  complain, 
But  only  keep  the  barren  name  of  wife, 
And  rid  you  of  the  trouble. 

Vent.     Was  ever  such  a  strife  of  sullen  honor! 
Both  scorn  to  be  oblig'd. 

Dola.     O,  she  has  toueh'd  him  in  the  tendcr'st  part; 
See  how  he  reddens  with  despite  and  shame, 
310  To  be  outdone  in  generosity! 

Vent.     See  how  he  winks !   how  he  dries  up  a  tear 
That  fain  would  fall! 

Ant.     Octavia,  I  have  heard  you,  and  must  praise 
The  greatness  of  your  soul ; 
But  cannot  yield  to  what  you  have  propos'd: 
For  I  can  ne'er  be  conquer'd  but  by  love; 
And  you  do  all  for  duty.     You  would  free  me. 
And  would  be  dropp'd  at  Athens;  was  't  not  so? 

Octav.     It  was,  my  lord. 

Ant.  Then  I  must  be  oblig'd 

320  To  one  who  loves  me  not ;  who,  to  herself. 
May  call  me  thankless  and  ungrateful  man:  — 
I'll  not  endure  it;   no. 

Vent.     I'm  glad  it  pinches  there.  [Aside. 

Octav.     Would  you   triumph  o'er  poor  Octavia's  virtue? 
That  pride  was  all  I  had  to  bear  me  up; 
That  you  might  think  you  ow'd  me  for  your  life, 
And  ow'd  it  to  my  duty,  not  my  love. 
I  have  been  injur'd,  and  my  haughty  soul 
Could  brook  but  ill  the  man  who  slights  my  bed. 
330        Ant.     Therefore  you  love  me  not. 

Octav.  Therefore,   my   lord, 

I  should  not  love  you. 

Ant.  Therefore  you  would  leave  me? 

Octav.     And  therefore  I  should  leave  you — if  I  could. 

Dola.     Her  soul's  too  great,  after  such  injuries. 
To  say  she  loves;  and  yet  she  lets  you  see  it. 
Her  modesty  and  silence  plead  her  cause. 

Ayit.     O  Dolabella,  which  way  shall  I  turn? 
I  find  a  secret  yielding  in  my  soul; 
But  Cleopatra,  who  would  die  with  me, 
Must  she  be  left?     Pity  pleads  for  Octavia; 
340  But  does  it  not  plead  more  for  Cleopatra? 

Vent.     Justice  and  pity  both  plead  for  Octavia; 
For  Cleopatra,  neither. 

One  would  be  ruin'd  with  you ;  but  she  first 
Had  ruin  'd  you :  the  other,  you  have  ruin  'd. 
And  yet  she  would  preserve  you. 

335.     plead]  Q1Q2.     pleads  Q3F. 


ACT  III  271 

In  everything  their  merits  are  unequal. 

Ant.     O,  my  distracted  soul! 

Octav.  Sweet  heav'n  compose  it! 

Come,  come,  my  lord,  if  I  can  pardon  you, 
Methinks  you  should  accept  it.    Look  on  these; 
350  Are  they  not  yours?   or  stand  they  thus  neglected. 
As  they  are  mine?    Go  to  him,  children,  go; 
Kneel  to  him,  take  him  by  the  hand,  speak  to  him; 
For  you  may  speak,  and  he  may  own  you  too, 
Without  a  blush;  and  so  he  cannot  all 
His  children:  go,  I  say,  and  pull  him  to  me. 
And  pull  him  to  yourselves,  from  that  bad  woman. 
You,  Agrippina,  hang  upon  his  arms; 
And  you,  Autonia,  clasp  about  his  waist: 
If  he  will  shake  you  off,  if  he  will  dash  you 
360  Against  the  pavement,  you  must  bear  it,  children; 
For  you  are  mine,  and  I  was  born  to  suffer. 

{IJcre  the  Children  go  to  him,  i^c. 

Vent.     Was  ever  sight  so  moving!   Emperor! 

Dola.     Friend! 

Octav.  Husband ! 

Both  Child.  Father! 

Ant.  I  am  vanquish 'd:    take  me, 

Octavia;  take  me,  children;  share  me  all.  [Embracing  them. 

I've  been  a  thriftless  debtor  to  your  loves, 
And  run  out  much,  in  riot,  from  your  stock; 
But  all  shall  be  amended. 

Octav.  O   blest  hour! 

Dola.     O  happy  change ! 

Vent.  My  Joy  stops  at  my  tongue; 

But  it  has  found  two  channels  here  for  one, 
370  And  bubbles  out  above. 

Ant.  [To  Octav.]    This  is  thy  triumph;  lead  me  where  thou  wilt; 
Ev'n  to  thy  brother's  camp. 

Octav.  All  there  are  yours. 

Enter  Alexas  hastily. 
Alex.     The  queen,  my  mistress,  sir,  and  yours- 


Ant.  'Tis  past.— 

Octavia,  you  shall  stay  this  night :   to-morrow, 
Ca?sar  and  we  are  one. 

[Exit,  leading  Octavia;  Dolabella  and  the  Children  follow. 

Vent.  There's  news  for  you; 

37.3-74.      'Tis  past      .       .       .      to-mnrrnir'].      Printed  as  one  lino  in  QqF. 
375-78.      There's     .     .      .      hii.'<lr\.      I'lintid    as    follows    in    QqF  : 
Ven.      There's  nexrs  for  yuu  ;   run, 
My  officious  eiiiiuch. 

Be  sure  to  be  the  first ;  haste  forward: 
Haste,   my   dear   euitueh.    haste. 
The    arranRcment    adopted    in    the    text    is    in    part    that    of    Taul    Meyer, 
Mcirisehe    Unterauchungcn    Ubcr    den    lilattkvera   John   Drydcna,    llalle    a.    S. 
1897  ;  p.  56. 


272  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

Run,  my  officious  eunuch, 

Be  sure  to  be  the  first;  haste  forward:  haste, 

My  dear  eunuch,  haste.  [Exit. 

Alex.     This  downright  fighting  fool,  this  thick-skull'd  hero, 
380  This  blunt,  unthinking  instrument  of  death. 

With  plain  dull  virtue  has  outgone  my  wit. 

Pleasure  forsook  my  early'st  infancy; 

The  luxury  of  others  robb'd  my  cradle. 

And  ravish  'd  thence  the  promise  of  a  man. 

Cast  out  from  nature,  disinherited 

Of  what  her  meanest  children  claim  by  kind. 

Yet  greatness  kept  me  from  contempt:  that's  gone. 

Had  Cleopatra  follow'd  my  advice. 

Then  he  had  been  betray'd  who  now  forsakes. 
390  She  dies  for  love ;  but  she  has  known  its  joys : 

Gods,  is  this  just,  that  I,  who  knows  no  joys. 

Must  die,  because  she  loves? 

E7iter  Cleopatra,  Charmion,  Iras,  Train. 

0  madam,  I  have  seen  what  blasts  my  eyes! 
Octavia's  here! 

Cleo.  Peace  with  that  raven 's  note. 

1  know  it  too ;  and  now  am  in 
The  pangs  of  death. 

AJex.  You  are  no  more  a  queen; 

Egypt  is  lost. 

Cleo.     What  tell'st  thou  me  of  Egypt? 
My  life,  my  soul  is  lost!    Octavia  has  him!  — 

0  fatal  name  to  Cleopatra's  love! 

400  My  kisses,  my  embraces  now  are  hers; 

While  I But  thou  hast  seen  my  rival ;   speak, 

Does  she  deserve  this  blessing?     Is  she  fair? 
Bright  as  a  goddess?  and  is  all  perfection 
Confin'd  to  her?     It  is.     Poor  I  was  made 
Of  that  coarse  matter  which,  when  she  was  finish'd, 
The  gods  threw  by  for  rubbish. 

Alex.  She's  indeed, 

A  very  miracle. 

Cleo.  Death  to  my  hopes, 

A  miracle! 

Alex.   [Bowing.]    A  miracle; 

1  mean  of  goodness;   for  in  beauty,  madam, 
410  You  make  all  wonders  cease. 

Cleo.  I  was  too  rash: 

Take  this  in  part  of  recompense.    But,  0!  [Giving  a  ring. 


387.     kept]   Qq.     keeps  F. 

391.      knows]   Q1Q2.     know  Q3FSsM. 

406  rubbish]  QqF  close  a  line  here  and  make  the  following  speeches  or 
Alexas  and  Cleopatra  hemistichs.  The  arrangement  adopted  in  the  text 
seems  a  slight  improvement. 


ACT  III  273 

I  fear  thou  flatter'st  me. 

Char.  She  comes!   she's  here! 

Iras.     Fly,  madam,  Caesar's  sister! 

Cleo.     Were  she  the  sister  of  the  thund'rer  Jove, 
And  bore  her  brother's  lightning  in  her  eyes, 
Thus  would  I  face  my  rival. 

Meets  OcTAViA  xvith  A^entidius.    Octavia  bear.s  up  to  her.    Their  Trains 

come  up  on  either  side. 

Octav.     I  need  not  ask  if  you  are  Cleopatra ; 
Your  haughty  carriage 

Cleo.  Shows  I  am  a  queen: 

Nor  need  I  ask  you,  who  you  are. 

Octav.  A  Eoman: 

420    V  name,  that  makes  and  can  unmake  a  queen. 

Cleo.     Your  lord,  the  man  who  serves  me,  is  a  Roman. 

Octav.     He  was  a  Roman,  till  he  lost  that  name, 
To  be  a  slave  in  Egypt;  but  I  come 
To  free  him  thence. 

Cleo.  Peace,  peace,  my  lover's  Juno. 

When  he  grew  weary  of  that  household  clog, 
lie  chose  my  easier  bonds. 

Octav.  I  wonder  not 

Your  bonds  are  easy;  you  have  long  been  practical 
In  that  lascivious  art.     He's  not  the  first 
For  whom  you  spread  your  snares:   let  Ca;sar  witness, 
430        Cleo.     I  lov'd  not  Ca;sar;  'twas  but  gratitude 
I  paid  his  love.     The  worst  your  malice  can, 
Is  but  to  say  the  greatest  of  mankind 
Has  been  my  slave.     The  next,  but  far  above  him 
In  my  esteem,  is  he  whom  law  calls  yours. 
But  whom  his  love  made  mine. 

Octav.  [Comiufj  tip  close  to  her.]    I  would  view  nearer 
That  face,  which  has  so  long  usurped  my  right, 
To  find  th'  inevitable  charms  that  catch 
Mankind  ^^o  sure,  that  ruin'd  my  dear  lord. 

Cleo.     O,  you  do  well  to  search;  for  had  you  known 
440  But  half  these  charms,  you  had  not  lost  his  heart. 

Octav.     Far  be  their  knowledge  from  a  Roman  lady, 
Far  from  a  modest  wife!      Shame  of  our  sex. 
Dost  thou  not  blush  to  own  those  black  endearments, 
That  make  sin  pleasing? 

Cleo.  You  may  blush,  who  want   'em. 

If  bounteous  nature,  if  indulgent  heav'n 
Have  giv'n  me  charms  to  please  the  bravest  man. 
Should  I  not  thank  'em?     Should  I  be  asham'd, 
And  not  be  proud?     I  am,  that  he  has  lov'd  me; 
And,  when  I  love  not  him,  heav"n  change  this  face 
450  For  one  like  that. 

Oclav.  Thou  lov'gt  him  not  so  well. 


274  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Cleo.     I  love  him  better,  aud  deserve  him  more. 

Octav.     You  do  not;  cannot:  you  have  been  his  ruin. 
Who  made  him  cheap  at  Eome,  but  Cleopatra? 
Who  made  him  scorn'd  abroad,  but  Cleopatra? 
At  Actium,  who  betray'd  him?     Cleopatra. 
Who  made  his  children  orphans,  and  poor  me 
A  wretched  widow?    only  Cleopatra. 

Cleo.     Yet  she  wlio  loves  him  best  is  Cleopatra. 
If  you  have  suffer'd,  I  have  suffer'd  more. 
460  You  bear  the  specious  title  of  a  wife 

To  gild  your  cause  and  draw  the  pitying  world 
To  favor  it:  the  world  contemns  poor  me; 
For  I  have  lost  my  honor,  lost  my  fame, 
And  stain'd  the  glory  of  my  royal  house, 
And  all  to  bear  the  branded  name  of  mistress. 
There  wants  but  life,  and  that  too  I  would  lose 
For  him  I  love. 

Octav.     Be  't  so,  then;  take  thy  wish.  [Exit  cum  suis. 

Cleo.     And  'tis  my  wish. 
Now  he  is  lost  for  whom  alone  I  liv'd. 
470  My  sight  grows  dim,  and  every  object  dances, 
And  swims  before  me,  in  the  maze  of  death. 
My  spirits,  while  they  were  opposed,  kept  up; 
They  could  not  sink  beneath  a  rival's  scorn: 
But  now  she's  gone,  they  faint. 

Alex.  Mine  have  had  leisure 

To  recollect  their  strength,  and  furnish  counsel, 
To  ruin  her,  who  else  must  ruin  you. 

Cleo.  Vain  promiser! 

Lead  me,  my  Charmion;  nay,  your  hand  too,  Iras. 
My  grief  has  weight  enough  to  sink  you  both. 
Conduct  me  to  some  solitary  chamber, 
480  And  draw  the  curtains  round; 

Then  leave  me  to  myself,  to  take  alone 
My  fill  of  grief: 

There  I  till  death  will  his  unkindness  weep; 

As  harmless  infants  moan  themselves  asleep.  [Exettnt. 


ACT  IV 

Antony,  Dolabella. 

Dola.     Why  would  you  shift  it  from  yourself,  on  me? 
Can  you  not  tell  her  you  must  part? 

Ant.  I  cannot. 

I  could  pull  out  an  eye,  and  bid  it  go, 
And  t'  other  should  not  weep.     O,  Dolabella, 

462.     contemns]   QqF.     condemns  SsM. 


ACT  IV  275 

How  many  deaths  are  in  this  word,  "Depart!" 
I  dare  not  trust  my  tongue  to  tell  her  so : 
One  look  of  hers  would  thaw  me  into  tears, 
And  I  should  melt,  till  I  were  lost  again. 

Dola.     Then  let  Ventidius; 
10  He's  rough  by  nature. 

Ant.  O,  he'll  speak  too  harshly; 

He'll  kill  her  with  the  news:  thou,  only  thou. 

Dola.     Nature  has  cast  me  in  so  Poft  a  mold, 
That  but  to  hear  a  story,  feign'd  for  pleasure. 
Of  some  sad  lover's  death,  moistens  my  eyes, 
And  robs  me  of  my  manhood.     I  should  speak 
So  faintly,  with  such  fear  to  grieve  licr  heart. 
She'd  not  believe  it  earnest. 

Ant.  Therefore, — therefore 

Thou  only,  thou  art  fit.     Think  thyself  me; 
And  when  thou  speak'st   (but  let  it  first  be  long), 
20  Take  off  the  edge  from  every  sharper  sound. 
And  let  our  parting  be  as  gently  made. 
As  other  loves  begin:  wilt  thou  do  this? 

Dola.     What  you  have  said  so  sinks  into  my  soul. 
That,  if  I  must  speak,  I  shill  speak  just  so. 

Ant.     I  leave  you  then  to  your  sad  task:    farewell. 
I  sent  her  word  to  meet  you.  [Goes  to  the  door,  and  comes  back. 

I  forgot; 
Let  her  be  told,  I'll  make  her  peace  with  mine : 
Her  crown  and  dignity  shall  be  prcserv'd, 

If  I  have  pow'r  with  Ca-sar. O,  be  sure 

30  To  think  on  that. 

Dola.     Fear  not,  I  will  remember. 

[Antony  goes  again  to  the  door,  and  comes  hack. 

Ant.     And  tell  her,  too,  how  much  I  was  consfrain'd; 
I  did  not  this,  but  with  extremest  force: 
Desire  her  not  to  hate  my  memory, 
For  I  still  cherish  hers; insist  on  that. 

Dola.     Trust  me,  I'll  not  forget  it. 

Ant.  Then  that's  all.      [Goes  out,  and  niurns  again. 

Wilt  thou  forgive  my  fondness  this  once  more? 
Tell  her,  tho'  we  shall  never  meet  again, 
If  I  should  hear  she  took  another  love, 
The  news  would  break  my  heart. — Now  I  must  go; 
40  For  every  time  I  have  return'd,  I  feel 

My  soul  more  tender;  and  my  next  command 

Would  be,  to  bid  her  stay,  and  ruin  both.  [Exit. 

Dola.     Men  are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth; 
Our  appetites  as  apt  to  change  as  theirs, 
And  full  as  craving  too,  and  full  as  vain; 


44.     appetites]    Qq.     appetite's  F. 


276  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

And  yet  the  soul,  shut  up  in  her  dark  room, 
Viewing  so  clear  abroad,  at  home  sees  nothing; 
But,  like  a  mole  in  earth,  busy  and  blind, 
Works  all  her  folly  up,  and  easts  it  outward 
50  To  the  world's  open  view:  thus  I  discover'd, 
And  blam'd  the  love  of  ruin'd  Antony; 
Yet  wish  that  I  were  he,  to  be  so  ruin'd. 

Enter  Ventidius  above. 

Vent.     Alone,  and  talking  to  himself?  eoncern'd  too? 
Perhaps  my  guess  is  right;  he  lov'd  her  once, 
And  may  pursue  it  still. 

Dola.  O  friendship!   friendship! 

Ill  canst  thou  answer  this;  and  reason,  worse: 
LTnfaithful  in  th'  attempt;  hopeless  to  win; 
And,  if  I  win,  undone:  mere  madness  all. 
And  yet  th'  occasion's  fair.     What  injury 
60  To  him,  to  wear  the  robe  which  he  throws  by? 

Ve7it.     None,  none  at  all.     This  happens  as  I  wish, 
To  ruin  her  yet  more  with  Antony. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  talking  with  Alexas;  Charmion,  Iras,  on  the  other 

side. 

Dola.     She  comes!    Wliat  charms  have  sorrow  on  that  face! 
Sorrow  seems  pleas'd  to  dwell  with  so  much  sweetness; 
Yet,  now  and  then,  a  melancholy  smile 
Breaks  loose,  like  lightning  in  a  winter's  night. 
And  shows  a  moment's  day. 

Vent.     If  she  should  love  him  too!  her  eunuch  there'. 
That  porc'pisce  bodes  ill  weather.     Draw,  draw  nearer, 
70  Sweet  devil,  that  I  may  hear. 

Alex.  Believe  me;   try 

[DOLABELLA  ffoes  ovcr  to  Charmion  and  Iras; 

seems  to  talk  with  them. 
To  make  him  jealous;  jealousy  is  like 
A  polish'd  glass  held  to  the  lips  when  life's  in  doubt; 
If  there  be  breath,  'twill  catch  the  damp,  and  show  it. 

Cleo.     I  grant  you,  jealousy's  a  proof  of  love, 
But  'tis  a  weak  and  unavailing  med'cine; 
It  puts  out  the  disease,  and  makes  it  show. 
But  has  no  pow  'r  to  cure. 

Alex.     'Tis  your  last  remedy,  and  strongest  too: 
And  then  this  Dolabella,  who  so  fit 
80  To  practice  on?     He's  handsome,  valiant,  young. 
And  looks  as  he  were  laid  for  nature's  bait. 
To  catch  weak  women's  eyes. 
He  stands  already  more  than  half  suspected 
Of  loving  you:  the  least  kind  word  or  glance 
You  give  this  youth  will  kindle  him  with  love; 


ACT  IV  277 

Then,  like  a  burning  vessel  set  adrift, 
You'll  send  him  down  amain  before  the  wind, 
To  fire  the  heart  of  jealous  Antony. 

Cleo.     Can  I  do  this?     Ah,  no;   my  love's  so  true, 
90  That  I  can  neither  hide  it  where  it  is, 

Nor  show  it  where  it  is  not.     Nature  meant  me 
A  wife;  a  silly,  harmless,  household  dove. 
Fond  without  art,  and  kind  without  deceit; 
But  fortune,  that  has  made  a  mistress  of  me, 
Has  thrust  me  out  to  the  wide  world,  unfurnish'd 
Of  falsehood  to  be  happy. 

Alex.  Force  yourself. 

Th'  event  will  bo,  your  lover  will  return, 
Doubly  desirous  to  possess  the  good 
Which  once  he  fear'd  to  lose. 

Cleo.  I  must  attempt  it ; 

100  But  O,  with  what  regret!       [Exit  Alexas.   She  comes  up  to  Dolabella. 

Vent.     So,  now  the  scene  draws  near;  they're  in  my  reach. 

Cleo.  [To  DoLA.]     Discoursing  with  my  women!  might  not  I 
Share  in  your  entertainment? 

Char.  You  have  been 

The  subject  of  it,  madam. 

Cleo.  How!    and  how? 

Iras.     Such  praises  of  your  beauty! 

Cli'o.  Mere  poetry. 

Your  Koman  wits,  your  Callus  and  Tibullus, 
Have  taught  you  this  from  Cytheris  and  Delia. 

Dola.     Those  Koman  wits  have  never  been  in  Egypt; 
Cytheris  and  Delia  else  had  been  unsung: 

110  I,  who  have  seen had  I  been  born  a  poet. 

Should  choose  a  nobler  name. 

Cleo.  You  flatter  me. 

But,  'tis  your  nation's  vice:  all  of  your  country 
Are  flatterers,  and  all  false.     Your  friend's  like  you. 
I'm  sure,  he  sent  you  not  to  speak  these  words. 

Dola.     No,  madam ;  yet  he  sent  me 

Cleo.  Well,  he   sent  you 

Dola.     Of  a  less  pleasing  errand. 

Cleo.  How  less  pleasing? 

Less  to  yourself,  or  me? 

Dola.  Madam,  to  both. 

For  you  must  mourn,  and  I  must  grieve  to  cause  it. 

Cleo.     You,  Charmion,  and  your  fellow,  stand  at  distance. — 

120  [Aside.]  Hold  up,  my  spirits. Well,  now  your  mournful  matter; 

For  I'm  prepar'd,  perhaps  can  guess  it  too. 

Dola.     I  wish  you  would;   for  'tis  a  thankless  oflSce, 
To  tell  ill  news;  and  I,  of  all  your  sex, 
Most  fear  displeasing  you. 

Cleo.  Of  all  your  sex, 


278  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

I  soonest  could  forgive  you,  if  you  should. 

Fent.     Most  delicate  advances!    Woman!  woman! 
Dear,  damn'd,  inconstant  sex! 

Cleo.  In  the  first  place, 

I  am  to  be  forsaken;  is  't  not  so? 

Do  la.     I  wish  I  could  not  answer  to  that  question. 
130        Cleo.     Then  pass  it  o'er,  because  it  troubles  you: 
I  should  have  been  more  griev'd  another  time. 

Next,  I'm  to  lose  my  kingdom Farewell,  Egypt ! 

Yet,  is  there  any  more  ? 

Dola.  Madam,  I  fear 

Your  too  deep  sense  of  grief  has  turn'd  your  reason. 

Cleo.     No,  no,  I'm  not  run  mad;  I  can  bear  fortune: 
And  love  may  be  expell'd  by  other  love, 
As  poisons  are  by  poisons. 

Dola.     You  o'erjoy  me,  madam. 
To  find  your  griefs  so  moderately  borne. 
140  You've  heard  the  worst ;  all  are  not  false  like  him. 

Cleo.     No;  heav'n  forbid  they  should. 

Dola.  Some  men  are  constant. 

C!eo.     And  constancy  deserves  reward,  that's  certain. 

Dola.     Deserves  it  not;  but  give  it  leave  to  hope. 

Fent.     I'll  swear,  thou  hast  my  leave.     I  have  enough: 
But  how  to  manage  this!     Well,  I'll  consider.  [Exit. 

Dola.     I  came  prepar'd 
To  tell  you  heavy  news;  news,  Avhich  I  thought 
Would  fright  the  blood  from  your  pale  cheeks  to  hear: 
But  you  have  met  it  with  a  cheerfulness 
150  That  makes  my  task  more  easy;  and  my  tongue, 
Which  on  another's  message  was  employ'd, 
Would  gladly  speak  its  own. 

Cleo.  Hold,  Dolabella. 

First  tell  me,  were  you  chosen  by  my  lord? 
Or  sought  you  this  employment? 

Dola.     He  piek'd  me  out;  and,  as  his  bosom  friend, 
He  charg'd  me  with  his  words. 

Cleo.  The  message  then 

I  know  was  tender,  and  each  accent  smooth, 
To  mollify  that  rugged  word,  "Depart." 

Dola.     O,  you  mistake:  he  chose  the  harshest  words; 
160  With  fiery  eyes,  and  with  contracted  brows, 
He  coin'd  his  face  in  the  severest  stamp; 
And  fury  shook  his  fabric,  like  an  earthquake; 
He  heav'd  for  vent,  and  burst  like  bellowing  ^tna. 
In  sounds  scarce  human — "Hence,  away  for  ever: 
Let  her  begone,  the  blot  of  my  renown. 
And  bane  of  all  my  hopes! 

126.     Woman!  woman!]   QqF.     Women!  icomen!  SsM. 


ACT   IV  279 

[All  the  time  of  this  speech,  Cleopatra  seems  more 
and  more  concerned,  till  she  sinks  quite  down. 

Let  her  be  driv'n,  as  far  as  men  can  think, 
From  man's  commerce!  she'll  poison  to  the  center." 
Cleo.     O,  I  can  bear  no  more! 
170        Dola.     Help,  help! — O  wretch!    O  cursed,  cursed  wretch! 
What  have  I  done! 

Char.  Help,  chafe  her  temples,  Iras. 

Iras.     Bend,  bend  her  forward  quickly. 
Char.  Heav  'n  be  prais  'd, 

She  comes  again. 

Cleo.     O,  let  him  not  approach  me. 
Why  have  you  brought  me  back  to  this  loath'd  being, 
Th'  abode  of  falsehood,  violated  vows. 
And  injur'd  love?     For  pity,  let  me  go; 
For  if  there  be  a  place  of  long  repose, 
I'm  sure  I  want  it.     My  disdainful  lord 
Can  never  break  that  quiet ;  nor  awake 
180  The  sleeping  soul,  with  holloing  in  my  tomb 

Such  words  as  fright  her  hence.     Unkind,  unkind ! 

Dola.   [Kneeling.]    Believe  me,  'tis  against  myself  I  speak; 
That  sure  deserves  belief;   I  injur'd  him: 
My  friend  ne'er  spoke  those  words.     O  had  you  seen 
How  often  he  came  back,  and  every  time 
With  something  more  obliging  and  more  kind. 
To  add  to  what  he  said;  what  dear  farewells; 
How  almost  vanquish'd  by  his  love  he  parted, 
And  lean'd  to  what  unwillingly  he  left! 
190  I,  traitor  as  I  was,  for  love  of  you 

(But  what  can  you  not  do,  who  made  me  false!) 
I  forg'd  that  lie;  for  whose  forgiveness  kneels 
This  self-accus'd,  self-punish'd  criminal. 

Cleo.     With  how  much  ease  believe  we  what  we  wish! 
Rise,  Dolabella;  if  you  have  been  guilty, 
I  have  contributed,  and  too  much  love 
Has  made  me  guilty  too. 

Th'  advance  of  kindness  which  I  made  was  feign'd, 
To  call  back  fleeting  love  by  jealousy; 
200  But  'twould  not  last.     O,  rather  let  me  lose, 
Than  so  ignobly  trifle  with  his  heart! 

Dola.     I  find  your  breast  fenc'd  round  from  human  reach. 
Transparent  as  a  rock  of  solid  crystal ; 
Seen  thro',  but  never  picrc'd.     My  friend,  my  friend ! 
What  endless  treasure  hast  thou  thrown  away; 
And  scatter'd,  like  an  infant,  in  the  ocean, 
Vain  sums  of  wealth,  which  none  can  gather  thence! 
Cleo.     Could  you  not  beg 

183.     deserves]  QqF.     desires  SsM. 


280  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

An  hour's  admittance  to  his  private  ear? 
210  Like  one,  who  wanders  thro'  long  barren  wilds, 
And  yet  foreknows  no  hospitable  inn 
Is  near  to  succor  hunger,  eats  his  fill, 
Before  his  painful  march : 
So  would  I  feed  a  while  my  famish'd  eyes 
Before  we  part ;  for  I  have  far  to  go. 
If  death  be  far,  and  never  must  return. 

Ventidius  luiih  Octavia,  lehind. 

Vent.     Prom  hence  you  may  discover — O,  sweet,  sweet! 
Would  you  indeed?    The  pretty  hand  in  earnest? 

Dola.     I  will,  for  this  reward. — [Takes  her  ha7id.]    Draw  it  not  back, 
220   'Tis  all  I  e'er  will  beg. 

Vent.     They  turn  upon  us. 

Octav.  What  quick  eyes  has  guilt! 

Vent.     Seem  not  to  have  observ'd  'em,  and  go  on. 

They  enter. 

Dola.     Saw  you  the  emperor,  Ventidius? 

Vent.  No. 

I  sought  him;  but  I  heard  that  he  was  private. 
None  with  him  but  Hipparchus,  his  freedman. 

Dola.     Know  you  his  bus'ness? 

Vent.  Giving  him   instructions. 

And  letters  to  his  brother  Cffisar. 

Dola.  Well, 

He  must  be  found. 

[Exeunt  Dolabella  and  Cleopatra.. 

Octav.  Most  glorious  impudence! 

Vent.     She  look'd,  methought, 
230  As  she  would  say:     "Take  your  old  man,  Octavia; 
Thank  you,  I'm  better  here."    Well,  but  what  use 
Make  we  of  this  discovery? 

Octav.  Let  it  die. 

Ve7it.     1  pity  Dolabella ;  but  she  's  dangerous : 
Her  eyes  have   pow'r  beyond   Thessalian  charms, 
To  draw  the  moon  from  heav'n;  for  eloquence, 
The  sea-green  Sirens  taught  her  voice  their  flatt'ry; 
And,  while  she  speaks,  night  steals  upon  the  day, 
Unmark'd  of  those  that  hear.     Then  she  's  so  charming, 
Age  buds  at  sight  of  her,  and  swells  to  youth: 
240  The  holy  priests  gaze  on  her  when  she  smiles; 
And  with  heav'd  hands,  forgetting  gravity. 
They  bless  her  wanton  eyes:  even  I,  who  hate  her. 
With  a  malignant  joy  behold  such  beauty; 
And,  while  I  curse,  desire  it.     Antony 

212-13.     7s     near     .     .     .     march]     So     arranged    by     SsM.     QqF    read : 

Is  near  to  succor  hunger. 
Eats  Ms  fill,  before  his  painful  march. 


ACT  IV  281 

Must  needs  have  some  remains  of  passion  still, 
Which  may  ferment  into  a  worse  relapse, 
If  now  not  fully  cur'd.     I  know,  this  minute, 
With  Ca;sar  he  's  endeavoring  her  peace. 

Octav.    You  have  prevail'd. But,  for  a  farther  purpose, 

[Walks  off. 
250  I'll  prove  how  he  will  relish  this  discovery. 

What,  make  a  strumpet's  peace!   it  swells  my  heart: 
It  must  not,  sha'  not  be. 

Vent.  His  guards  appear. 

Let  me  begin,  and  you  shall  second  me. 

Enter  Antony. 

Ant.     Octavia,  I  was  looking  you,  my  love: 
What,  are  your  letters  ready?     I  have  givn 
My  last  instructions. 

Octav.  Mine,  my  lord,  are  written. 

Ant.     Ventidius!  [Drawing  Titm  aside. 

Vent.  My  lord? 

Ant.  A  word  in  private. — 

When  saw  you  Dolabella? 

Vent.  Now,  my  lord, 

He  parted  hence;   and  Cleopatra  with  him. 
2<i0         Ant.     Speak  softly. — "Twas  by  my  command  he  went, 
To  bear  my  last  farewell. 

Vent.   [Aloud. \     It  look'd  indeed 
Like  your  farewell. 

Ant.  ]\Iore  softly. — My  farewell? 

What  secret  meaning  have  you  in  those  words 
Of  ' '  my  farewell  ? ' '     He  did  it  by  my  order. 

Vent.  [Aloud.]     Then  he  obey'd  your  order.     I  suppose 
You  bid  him  do  it  with  all  gentleness. 
All  kindness,  and  all love. 

Ant.  How  she  mourn 'd, 

The  poor  forsaken  creature! 

Vent.     She  took  it  as  she  ought;   she  bore  your  parting 
270  As  she  did  Caesar's,  as  she  would  another's. 
Were  a  new  love  to  come. 

Ant.  [Aloud.]     Thou  dost  belie  her; 
Most  basely  and  maliciously  belie  her. 

l''ent.     I  thought  not  to  displease  you ;   I  have  done. 

Octav.   [Coming  up.]     You  seem  disturb'd,  my  lord. 

Ant.  A  very  trifle. 

Eetire,  my  love. 

Vent.  It  was  indeed  a  trifle. 

He  sent 

Ant.  [Angrily.]     No  more.     Look  how  thou  disobey'st  me; 
Thy  life  shall  answer  it. 

Octav.  Then    'tis  no  tiillc. 


282  ALL  FOE  LOVfi 

Ve7it.  [To  OCTAV.]     'Tis  less;  a  very  nothing:  you  too  saw  it, 
As  well  as  I,  and  therefore  'tis  no  secret. 
280        Ant.     She  saw  it! 

Vent.  Yes:   she  saw  young  Dolabella 

Ant.    Young  Dolabella! 

Vent.  Young,  I  think  him  young, 

And  handsome  too;  and  so  do  others  think  him. 
But  what  of  that?     He  went  by  your  command. 
Indeed  'tis  probable,  with  some  kind  message; 
For  she  receiv'd  it  graciously;  she  smil'd; 
And  then  he  grew  familiar  with  her  hand, 
Squeez'd  it,  and  worried  it  with  ravenous  kisses; 
She  blush'd,  and  sigh'd,  and  smiFd,  and  blush'd  again; 
At  last  she  took  occasion  to  talk  softly, 
290  And  brought  her  cheek  up  close,  and  lean'd  on  his; 
At  which,  he  whisper'd  kisses  back  on  hers; 
And  then  she  cried  aloud  that  constancy 
Should  be  rewarded. 

Octav.  This  I  saw  and  heard. 

Ant.    What  woman  was  it,  whom  you  heard  and  saw 
So  playful  with  my  friend?     Ivlot  Cleopatra? 

Vent.     Ev'n  she,  my  lord. 

Ant.  My  Cleopatra? 

Vent.     Your  Cleopatra; 
Dolabella's  Cleopatra; 
Every  man's  Cleopatra. 
300        A7it.     Thou  li'st. 

Vent.  I  do  not  lie,  my  lord, 

Is  this  so  strange?     Should  mistresses  be  left, 
And  not  provide  against  a  time  of  change? 
You  know  she  's  not  much  us"d  to  lonely  nights. 

Ant.     I'll  think  no  more  on  't. 
I  know  'tis  false,  and  see  the  plot  betwixt  you. 
You  needed  not  have  gone  this  way,  Octavia. 
What  harms  it  you  that  Cleopatra  's  just? 
She   's  mine  no  more.     I  see,  and  I  forgive: 
Urge  it  no  farther,  love. 

Octav.  Are  you  concern 'd, 

310  That  she  's  found  false? 

A7it.  I  should  be,  were  it  so; 

For,  tho'  tis  past,  I  would  not  that  the  world 
Should  tax  my  former  choice,  that  I  lov'd  one 
Of  so  light  note;  but  I  forgive  you  both. 

Vent.     What  has  my  age  deserv'd,  that  you  should  think 
I  would  abuse  your  ears  with  perjury? 
If  heav'n  be  true,  she   's  false. 

Ant.  Tho'  heav'n  and  earth 

Should  witness  it,  I'll  not  believe  her  tainted. 

Vent.     I'll  bring  you  then  a  witness 


Act  IV  2dd 

rrom  hell,  to  prove  her  so. — Nay,  go  not  back; 

[Seeing  Alexas,  just  ent'ring,  and  starting  back. 
320  For  stay  you  must  and  shall. 

Alex.  What  means  my  lord? 

Vent.    To  make  you  do  what  most  you  hate, — speak  truth. 
You  are  of  Cleopatra's  private  counsel, 
Of  her  bed-counsel,  her  lascivious  hours; 
Are  conscious  of  each  nightly  change  she  makes, 
And  watch  her,  as  Chaldaeans  do  the  moon. 
Can  tell  what  signs  she  passes  thro',  what  day. 

Alex.     My  noble  lord! 

Vent.  My  most  illustrious  pander. 

No  fine  set  speech,  no  cadence,  no  turn'd  periods. 
But  a  plain  homespun  truth,  is  what  I  ask: 
330  I  did,  myself,  o'erhear  your  queen  make  love 
To  Dolabella.     Speak;   for  I  will  know, 
By  your  confession,  what  more  pass'd  betwixt  'em; 
How  near  the  bus'ness  draws  to  your  employment; 
And  when  the  happy  hour. 

Ant.     Speak  truth,  Alexas;   whether  it   offend 
Or  please  Ventidius,  care  not.     Justify 
Thy  iujur'd  queen  from  malice:  dare  his  worst. 

Octav.   [Aside.]     See  how  he  gives  him  courage!   how  he  fears 
To  find  her  false!  and  shuts  his  eyes  to  truth, 
340  Willing  to  be  misled ! 

Alex.    As  far  as  love  may  plead  for  woman's  frailty, 
Urg'd  by  desert  and  greatness  of  the  lover. 
So  far,  divine  Octavia,  may  my  queen 
Stand  ev'n  excus'd  to  you  for  loving  him 
Who  is  your  lord:   so  far,  from  brave  Ventidius, 
May  her  past  actions  hope  a  fair  report. 

Ant.     'Tis  well,  and  truly  spoken:    mark,  Ventidius. 

Alex.     To  you,  most  noble  emperor,  her  strong  passion 
Stands  not  excus'd,  but  wholly  justified. 
350  Her  beauty's  charms  alone,  without  her  crown. 
From  Ind  and  Meroe  drew  the  distant  vows 
Of  sighing  kings;  and  at  her  feet  were  laid 
The  scepters  of  the  earth,  expos'd  on  heaps, 
To  choose  where  she  would  reign : 
She  thought  a  Roman  only  could  deserve  her, 
And,  of  all  Romans,  only  Antony; 
And,  to  be  less  than  wife  to  you,  disdain'd 
Their  lawful  passion.     Ant.      'Tis  but  truth. 

Alex.     And  yet,  tho'  love,  and  your  unmatch'd  desert, 
360  Have  drawn  her  from  the  due  regard  of  honor. 
At  last  heav'n  open'd  her  unwilling  eyes 
To  see  the  wrongs  she  offer'd  fair  Octavia, 
Whose  holy  bed  she  lawlessly  usurp'd. 


303.     lawlessly]   Ql.     laicfuUy  Q2Q3F. 


284  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

The  sad  effects  of  this  improsperous  war 
Confirm'd  those  pious  thoughts. 

Vent.   [Aside.]  O,  wheel  you  there? 

Observe  him  now;   the  man  begins  to  mend, 
And  talk  substantial  reason.     Fear  not,  eunuch ; 
The  emperor  has  giv'n  thee  leave  to  speak. 

Alex.     Else  had  I  never  dar'd  t'  offend  his  ears 
370  With  what  the  last  necessity  has  urg'd 
On  my  forsaken  mistress;  yet  I  must  not 
Presume  to  say,  her  heart  is  wholly  alter'd. 

Ant.    No,  dare  not  for  thy  life,  I  charge  thee  dare  not 
Pronounce  that  fatal  word ! 

Octav.  [Aside.]     Must  I  bear  this?    Good  heav"n,  afford  me  patience. 

Vent.     On,  sweet  eunuch;   my  dear  half -man,  proceed. 

Alex.    Yet  Dolabella 
Has  lov'd  her  long;  he,  next  my  godlike  lord, 
Deserves  her  best;  and  should  she  meet  his  passion, 
380  Rejected,  as  she  is,  by  him  she  lov'd 

Ant.     Hence,  from  my  sight!   for  I  can  bear  no  more: 
Let  furies  drag  thee  quick  to  hell;  let  all 
The  longer  damn'd  have  rest ;  each  torturing  hand 
Do  thou  employ,  till  Cleopatra  comes; 
Then  join  thou  too,  and  help  to  torture  her! 

[Exit  Alexas,  thrust  out  by  Antony. 

Octav.     'Tis  not  well, — 
Indeed,  my  lord,  'tis  much  unkind  to  me, 
To  show  this  passion,  this  extreme  concernment. 
For  an  abandon'd,  faithless  prostitute. 
390        Ant.     Octavia,  leave  me;   I  am  much  disorder 'd: 
Leave  me,  I  say. 

Octav.  My  lord! 

Ani.  I  bid  you  leave  me. 

Vent.     Obey  him,  madam;  best  withdraw  a  while. 
And  see  how  this  will  work. 

Octav.     Wherein  have  I  offended  you,  my  lord. 
That  I  am  bid  to  leave  you?    Am  I  false, 
Or  infamous?    Am  I  a  Cleopatra? 
Were  I  she. 

Ease  as  she  is,  you  would  not  bid  me  leave  you; 
But  hang  upon  my  neck,  take  slight  excuses, 
400  And  fawn  upon  my  falsehood. 

Ant.  'Tis  too  much, 

Too  much,  Octavia;  I  am  press'd  with  sorrows 
Too  heavy  to  be  borne;  and  you  add  more: 
I  would  retire,  and  recollect  what  's  left 
Of  man  within,  to  aid  me. 

382-83.     let   all    The   longer   damn'd   have   rest]    Ql.     Omitted   by    Q2Q3F, 
possibly  by  Dryden's  own  direction. 


ACT  IV  285 

Octav.  You  would  mourn, 

In  private,  for  your  love,  who  has  betray'd  you. 

You  did  but  half  return  to  me:  your  kinc'ness 

Linger'd  behind  with  her.     I  hear,  my  lord. 

You  make  conditions  for  her, 

And  would  include  her  treaty.     Wondrous  proofs 
410  Of  love  to  me ! 

Ant.     Arc  you  my  friend,  Ventidius? 

Or  are  you  turn'd  a  Dolabella  too, 

And  let  this  Fury  loose? 

Vent.  O,  be  advis'd. 

Sweet  madam,  and  retire. 

Octav.    Yes,  I  will  go;  but  never  to  return. 

You  shall  no  more  be  haunted  with  this  Fury. 

My  lord,  my  lord,  love  will  not  always  last, 

When  urg'd  with  long  unkindness  and  disdain : 

Take  her  again,  whom  you  prefer  to  me; 

She  stays  but  to  be  call'd.     Poor  cozen'd  man! 
420  Let  a  feign'd  parting  give  her  back  your  heart. 

Which  a  feign'd  love  first  got ;  for  injur'd  me, 

Tho'  my  just  sense  of  wrongs  forbid  my  stay, 

My  duty  shall  be  yours. 

To  the  dear  pledges  of  our  former  love. 

My  tenderness  and  care  shall  be  transferr'd. 

And  they  shall  cheer,  by  turns,  my  widow'd  nights: 

So,  take  my  last  farewell;  for  I  despair 

To  have  you  whole,  and  scorn  to  take  you  half.  [Exit. 

Vent.     I  combat  heav'n,  which  blasts  my  best  designs: 
430  My  last  attempt  must  be  to  win  her  back; 

But  O!    I  fear,  in  vain.  [Exit. 

Ant.    Why  was  I  fram'd  with  this  plain,  honest  heart, 

Which  knows  not  to  disguise  its  griefs  and  weakness, 

But  bears  its  workings  outward  to  the  world? 

I  should  have  kept  the  mighty  anguish  in. 

And  forc'd  a  smile  at  Cleopatra's  falsehood: 

Octavia  had  believ'd  it,  and  had  stay'd. 

But  I  am  made  a  shallow-forded  stream. 

Seen  to  the  bottom:  all  my  clearness  scorn'd, 
440  And  all  my  faults  expos 'd!     See  where  he  comes 

Enter  Dolabella. 

Who  has  profan'd  the  sacred  name  of  friend, 

And  worn  it  into  vileness! 

With  how  secure  a  brow,  and  specious  form. 

He  gilds  the  secret  villain !     Sure  that  face 

Was  meant  for  hone.sty;  but  heav'n  mismatch 'd  it, 

And  furnish'd  treason  out  with  nature's  pomp, 

To  make  its  work  more  easy. 

Dola.  O  niv  friend ! 


286  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

Ant.     Well,  Dolabella,  you  perforra'd  my  message? 

Dola.     I  did,  unwillingly. 

Ant.  Unwillingly? 

450  Was  it  so  hard  for  you  to  bear  our  parting? 
You  should  have  wish'd  it. 

Dola.  Why? 

Ant.  Because  you  love  me. 

And  she  received  my  message  with  as  true, 
With  as  unfeign'd  a  sorrow  as  you  brought  it? 

Dola.     She  loves  you,  ev'n  to  madness. 

Ant.  O,  I  know  it. 

You,  Dolabella,  do  not  better  know 
How  much  she  loves  me.    And  should  I  forsake 
This  beauty?     This  all-perfect  creature? 

Dola.     I  could  not,  were  she  mine. 

Ant.  And  yet  you  first 

Persuaded  me:  how  come  you  alter'd  since? 
460        Dola.     I  said  at  first  I  was  not  fit  to  go: 
I  could  not  hear  her  sighs,  and  see  her  tears. 
But  pity  must  prevail:   and  so,  perhaps. 
It  may  again  with  you;  for  I  have  promis'd, 
That  she  should  take  her  last  farewell:  and,  see, 
She  comes  to  claim  my  word. 

Enter  Cleopatra. 

Ant.  False  Dolabella! 

Dola.    What  's  false,  my  lord? 

Ant.  Why,  Dolabella  's  false, 

And  Cleopatra  's  false;  both  false  and  faithless. 
Draw  near,  you  well-join'd  wickedness,  you  serpents, 
Whom  I  have  in  my  kindly  bosom  warm'd, 
470  Till  I  am  stung  to  death. 

Dola.  My  lord,  have  I 

Deserv'd  to  be  thus  us'd? 

Cleo.  Can  heav'n  prepare 

A  newer  torment?    Can  it  find  a  curse 
Beyond  our  separation? 

Ant.  Yes,  if  fate 

Be  just,  much  greater:  heav'n  should  be  ingenious 
In  punishing  such  crimes.     The  rolling  stone. 
And  gnawing  vulture,  were  slight  pains,  invented 
When  Jove  was  young,  and  no  examples  known 
Of  mighty  ills;  but  you  have  ripen 'd  sin 
To  such  a  monstrous  growth,  'twill  pose  the  gods 
480  To  find  an  equal  torture.     Two.  two  such!  — 
O,  there  's  no  farther  name, — two  such!   to  me. 
To  me,  who  lock'd  my  soul  within  your  breasts. 
Had  no  desires,  no  joys,  no  life,  but  you. 

456.     How  much,  etc.]     The  editor  again  follows  Meyer   (op.  cit.,  p.  56) 
in  rearranging  the  lines. 


ACT  IV  287 

When  half  the  globe  was  mine,  I  gave  it  you 
In  dowry  with  my  heart ;  I  had  no  use, 
No  fruit  of  all,  but  you !   a  friend  and  mistress, 
Was  what  the  world  could  give.     O  Cleopatra! 
O  Dolabella !  how  could  you  betray 
This  tender  heart,  which,  with  an  infant  fondness, 
490  Lay  lull'd  betwixt  your  bosoms,  and  there  slept. 
Secure  of  injur'd  faith? 

Dola.  If  she  has  wrong 'd  you, 

Heav'n,  hell,  and  you,  revenge  it. 

Ant.  If  she  wrong 'd  me! 

Thou  wouldst  evade  thy  part  of  guilt;   but  swear 
Thou  lov'st  not  her. 

Dola.  Not  so  as  I  love  you. 

Ant.    Not  so?    Swear,  swear,  I  say,  thou  dost  not  love  her. 

Dola.     No  more  than  friendship  will  allow. 

Ant.  No  more? 

Friendship  allows  thee  nothing:   thou  art  perjur'd — 
And  yet  thou  didst  not  swear  thou  lov'dst  her  not; 
But  not  so  much,  no  more.     O  trifling  hypocrite, 
500  Who  dar'st  not  own  to  her,  thou  dost  not  love. 
Nor  own  to  me,  thou  dost!     Ventidius  heard  it; 
Octavia  saw  it. 

Cleo.     They  are  enemies. 

Ant.     Alexas  is  not  so:    he,  he  confess 'd  it; 
He,  who,  next  hell,  best  knew  it,  he  avow'd  it. 
[To  Dola.]     Why  do  I  seek  a  proof  beyond  yourself? 
You,  whom  I  sent  to  bear  my  last  farewell. 
Return  'd,  to  plead  her  stay. 

Dola.  What  shall  I  answer? 

If  to  have  lov'd  be  guilt,  then  I  have  sinn'd; 
But  if  to  have  repented  of  that  love 
510  Can  wash  away  my  crime,  I  have  repented. 
Yet,  if  I  have  offended  past  forgiveness. 
Let  not  her  suffer:  she  is  innocent. 

Cleo.     Ah,  what  will  not  a  woman  do,  who  loves? 
What  means  will  she  refuse,  to  keep  that  heart 
Where  all  her  joys  are  plac'd?     'Twas  I  encourag'd, 
'Twas  I  blew  up  the  fire  that  scorch'd  his  soul. 
To  make  you  jealous,  and  by  that  regain  you. 
But  all  in  vain ;   I  could  not  counterfeit : 
[n  spite  of  all  the  dams,  my  love  broke  o'er 
f)20  And  drown'd  my  heart  again:    fate  took  th'  occasion; 
And  thus  one  minute's  feigning  has  destroy'd 
My  whole  life's  truth. 

Ant.  Thin  cobweb  arts  of  falsehood; 

402.     If  she  tcronr/'d  wr.']      QqF  hnvp   only  a  comma   after   tlu-sc   words; 
SsM  insert  the  ex<'lamatlon  point.     SsM  insert  has  after  she. 
■IDS.      lov'dst]    QqF.      lov'st   SsM. 


288  ALL   FOR  LOVE 

Seen,  and  broke  thro'  at  first. 

Bola.  Forgive  your  mistress. 

Cleo.     Forgive  your  friend. 

Ant.  You  have  con  vine  M  yourselves. 

You  plead  each  other's  cause:  what  witness  have  you, 
That  you  but  meant  to  raise  my  jealousy? 

Cleo.     Ourselves,  and  heav'n. 

Ant.     Guilt  witnesses  for  guilt.     Hence,  love  and  friendship! 
You  have  no  longer  place  in  human  breasts; 
530  These  two  have  driv'n  you  out.    Avoid  my  sight ! 
I  would  not  kill  the  man  whom  I  have  lov'd. 
And  cannot  hurt  the  woman;  but  avoid  me: 
I  do  not  know  how  long  I  can  be  tame; 
For,  if  I  stay  one  minute  more,  to  think 
How  I  am  wrong'd.  my  justice  and  revenge 
Will  cry  so  loud  within  me  that  my  pity 
Will  not  be  heard  for  either. 

Vola.     .  Heav  'n  has  but 

Our  sorrow  for  our  sins ;  and  then  delights 
To  pardon  erring  man :  sweet  mercy  seems 
540  Its  darling  attribute,  which  limits  justice; 
As  if  there  were  degrees  in  infinite. 
And  infinite  would  rather  want  perfection, 
Than  punish  to  extent. 

Ant.  I  can  forgive 

A  foe;  but  not  a  mistress  and  a  friend. 
Treason  is  there  in  its  most  horrid  shape. 
Where  trust  is  greatest ;  and  the  soul  resign'd, 
Is  stabb'd  by  its  own  guards:   I'll  hear  no  more; 
Hence  from  my  sight,  for  ever! 

Cleo.  How?  for  ever? 

I  cannot  go  one  moment  from  your  sight, 
550  And  must  I  go  for  ever? 

My  joys,  my  only  joys,  are  center'd  here: 
W^hat  place  have  I  to  go  to?     My  own  kingdom? 
That  I  have  lost  for  you.     Or  to  the  Romans? 
They  hate  me  for  your  sake.     Or  must  I  wander 
The  wide  world  o'er,  a  helpless,  banish'd  woman, 
Banish'd  for  love  of  you;  banish'd  from  you? 
Aye,  there  's  the  banishment  I     0,  hear  me ;  hear  me, 
With  strictest  justice:  for  I  beg  no  favor; 
And  if  I  have  offended  you,  then  kill  me, 
560  But  do  not  banish  me. 

Ant.  I  must  not  hear  you. 

I  have  a  fool  within  me  takes  your  part; 
But  honor  stops  my  ears. 

Cleo.  For  pity  hear  me! 

Would  you  cast  off  a  slave  who  followed  you? 

531.     /  have  lov'd]   SsM.     /  lov'd  QqF. 


ACT  V  289 

Who  crouch'd  beneath  your  spurn? — He  has  no  pity! 
See,  if  he  gives  one  tear  to  my  departure^ 
One  look,  one  kind  farewell:     O  iron  heart! 
Let  all  the  gods  look  down,  and  judge  betwixt  us, 
If  he  did  ever  love! 

Ant.  No  more:  Alexas! 

Dola.     A  perjur'd  villain! 

Ant.     [To  Cleo.]  Your  Alexas;  yours. 

570         Cleo.     O,  'twas  his  plot;  his  ruinous  design, 
T'  ingage  you  in  my  love  by  jealousy. 
Hear  him;   confront  him  with  me;   let  him  speak. 

Ant.     I  have;  I  have. 

Cleo.  And  if  he  clear  me  not 

Ant.     Your  creature!  one  who  hangs  upon  your  smiles! 
Watches  your  eye,  to  say  or  to  unsay, 
Whate'er  you  please !     I  am  not  to  be  mov'd. 

Cleo.     Then  must  we  part?     Farewell,  my  cruel  lord! 
Th'  appearance  is  against  me;  and  I  go, 
Unjustified,  for  ever  from  your  sight. 
580  How  I  have  lov'd,  you  know ;  how  yet  I  love, 
My  only  comfort  is,  I  know  myself: 
I  love  you  more,  ev'n  now  you  are  unkind, 
Than  when  you  lov'd  me  most ;   so  well,  so  truly 
I'll  never  strive  against  it ;   but  die  pleas'd, 
To  think  you  once  were  mine. 

Ant.     Good  heav'n,  they  weep  at  parting. 
Must  I  weep  too?  that  calls  "em  innocent. 
I  must  not  weep;  and  yet  I  must,  to  think 

That  I  must  not  forgive. 

590  Live,  but  live  wretched;   'tis  but  just  you  should, 
Who  made  me  so:    live  from  each  other's  sight; 
Let  me  not  hear  you  meet.     Set  all  the  earth, 
And  all  the  seas,  betwixt  your  sunder'd  loves: 
"View  nothing  common  but  the  sun  and  Fkies. 
Now,  all  take  several  ways; 

And  each  your  own  sad  fate,  with  mine,  deplore; 

That  you  were  false,  and  I  could  trust  no  more.         [Exeunt  severally. 


ACT  V 

Cleopatra,  Charmion,  Iras. 

Char.     Be  juster,  heav'n;  such  nrtue  punish'd  thus, 
Will  make  us  think  that  chance  rules  all  above. 
And  shuflies,  with  a  random  hand,  the  lots 
Which  man  is  forc'd  to  draw. 

Cleo.     I  could  tear  out  these  eyes,  that  gain'd  his  heart. 
And  had  not  pow'r  to  keep  it.     O  the  curse 


290  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

Of  doting  on,  ev'n  when  I  find  it  dotage! 
Bear  witness,  gods,  you  heard  4iim  bid  me  go ; 
You,  whom  he  mock'd  with  imprecating  vows 

10  Of  promis'd  faith! I'll  die;  I  will  not  bear  it. 

You  may  hold  me [She  pulls  out  her  dagger,  and  they  hold  her. 

But  I  can  keep  my  breath;  I  can  die  inward, 
And  choke  this  love. 

Enter  Alexas. 

Iras.  Help,  0  Alexas,  help! 

The  queen  grows  desperate;  her  soul  struggles  in  her 
With  all  the  agonies  of  love  and  rage, 
And  strives  to  force  its  passage. 

Cleo.  Let  me  go. 

Art  thou  there,  traitor! — O, 

0  for  a  little  breath,  to  vent  my  rage! 

Give,  give  me  way,  and  let  me  loose  upon  him. 
20        Alex.    Yes,  I  deserve  it,  for  my  ill-tim'd  truth. 

Was  it  for  me  to  prop 

The  ruins  of  a  falling  majesty? 

To  place  myself  beneath  the  mighty  flaw. 

Thus  to  be  crush'd,  and  pounded  into  atoms, 

By  its  o'erwhelming  weight?     'Tis  too  presuming 

For  subjects  to  preserve  that  wilful  pow'r, 

Which  courts  its  own  destruction. 

Cleo.  I  would  reason 

More  calmly  with  you.    Did  not  you  overrule, 

And  force  my  plain,  direct,  and  open  love, 
30  Into  these  crooked  paths  of  jealousy? 

Now,  what  's  th'  event?    Octavia  is  remov'd; 

But  Cleopatra  's  banish'd.     Thou,  thou  villain, 

Hast  push'd  my  boat  to  open  sea;  to  prove. 

At  my  sad  cost,  if  thou  canst  steer  it  back. 

It  cannot  be;  I'm  lost  too  far;  I'm  ruin'd : 

Hence,  thou  imposter,  traitor,  monster,  devil!  — 

1  can  no  more:  thou,  and  my  griefs,  have  sunk 
Me  down  so  low,  that  I  want  voice  to  curse  thee. 

Alex.     Suppose  some  shipwrack'd  seaman  near  the  shore, 
40  Dropping  and  faint,  with  climbing  up  the  cliff, 
If,  from  above,  some  charitable  hand 
Pull  him  to  safety,  hazarding  himself, 
To  draw  the  other's  weight ;   would  he  look  back. 
And  curse  him  for  his  pains?    The  case  is  yours; 
But  one  step  more,  and  you  have  gain'd  the  heighth. 

Cleo.     Sunk,  never  more  to  rise. 

Alex.     Octavia   's  gone,  and  Dolabella  banish'd. 
Believe  me,  madam,  Antony  is  yours. 
His  heart  was  never  lost,  but  started,  off 


39.     shipwrack'd  seaman]  QqF.     shipwrecked  seamen  SsM. 


ACT  V  291 


50  To  jealousy,  love's  last  retreat  and  covert; 
Where  it  lies  hid  in  shades,  watchful  in  silence, 
And  list'ning  for  the  sound  that  calls  it  back. 
Some  other,  any  man  ("tis  so  advanc'd), 
May  perfect  this  unfinish'd  work,  which  I 
(Unhappy  only  to  myself)  have  left 
So  easy  to  his  hand. 

Cko.  Look  well  thou  do    't;  else- 


Alex.     Else,  w^hat  your  silence  threatens. — Antony 
Is  mounted  up  the  Pharos,  from  whose  turret 
He  stands  surveying  our  Egyptian   galleys, 
60  Engag'd  with  Cajsar's  fleet.     Now  death  or  conquest! 
If  the  first  happen,  fate  acquits  my  promise; 
If  we  o'ercome,  the  conqueror  is  yours.  [A  distant  shout  within. 

Char.     Have  comfort,  madam:   did  you  mark  that  shout? 

[Second  shout  nearer. 

Iras.     Hark!  they  redouble  it. 

Alex.  'Tis  from  the  port. 

The  loudness  shows  it  near:  good  news,  kind  heavens! 

Cleo.     Osiris  make  it  so ! 

Enter  Serapion. 

Scrap.  Wlicre,  where 's  the  queen? 

Alex.     How  frightfully  the  holy  coward  stares. 
As  if  not  yet  recover"d  of  th'  assault, 
When  all  his  gods,  and,  what  's  more  dear  to  him, 
70  His  offerings,  were  at  stake. 

Serap.  O  horror,  horror! 

Egypt  has  been;  our  latest  hour  is  come: 
The  queen  of  nations,  from  her  ancient  seat, 
Is  sunk  for  ever  in  the  dark  abyss: 
Time  has  unroll'd  her  glories  to  the  last, 
And  now  clos'd  up  the  volume. 

Cleo.  Be  more  plain: 

Say  whence  thou  com'st ;  tho'  fate  is  in  thy  face, 
Which  from  thy  haggard  eyes  looks  wildly  out. 
And  threatens  ere  thou  speak'st. 

Serap.                                            I  came  from  Pharos; 
From  viewing  (spare  me,  and  imagine  it) 
80  Our  land's  last  hope,  your  na\y 

Cleo.  Vanquish 'd? 

Serap.  No : 

They  fought  not. 

Cleo.  Then  they  fled. 

Serap.  Xor  that.     I  saw, 

With  Antony,  your  well-appointed  fleet 
Row  out;   and  thrice  he  wav'd  his  hand  on  high, 
And  thrice  with  cheerful  cries  they  shouted  back: 
'Twas  then  false  Fortune,  like  a  fawning  strumpet, 


292  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

About  to  leave  the  bankrupt  prodigal, 
With  a  dissembled  smile  would  kiss  at  parting, 
And  flatter  to  the  last ;  the  well-tim  'd  oars 
Now  dipp'd  from  every  bank,  now  smoothly  run 
go  To  meet  the  foe;  and  soon  indeed  they  met. 
But  not  as  foes.    In  few,  we  saw  their  caps 
On  either  side  thrown  up;  th'  Egyptian  galleys 
(Receiv'd  like  friends)   pass'd  thro',  and  fell  behind 
The  Eoman  rear:  and  now,  they  all  come  forward. 
And  ride  within  the  port. 

Cleo.  Enough,  Serapion: 

I've  heard  my  doom. — This  needed  not,  you  gods: 
When  I  lost  Antony,  your  work  was  done; 
'Tis  but  superfluous  malice.     Where  's  my  lord? 
How  bears  he  this  last  blow? 
100         Serap.     His  fury  cannot  be  express  'd  by  words. 
Thrice  he  attempted  headlong  to  have  fall'n 
Full  on  his  foes,  and  aim'd  at  Caesar's  galley: 
Withheld,  he  raves  on  you;  cries,  he  's  betray'd. 

Should  he  now  find  you 

Alex.  Shun  him;  seek  your  safety, 

Till  you  can  clear  your  innocence. 

Clco.  I'll  stay. 

Alex.     You  must  not;  haste  you  to  your  monument, 
While  I  make  speed  to  Caesar. 

Clco.  CsBsar!    No, 

I  have  no  business  with  him. 

Alex.  I  can  work  him 

To  spare  your  life,  and  let  this  madman  perish. 
110        Cleo.     Base  fawning  wretch!  wouldst  thou  betray  him  tool 
Hence  from  my  sight!     I  will  not  hear  a  traitor; 
'Twas  thy  design  brought  all  this  ruin  on  us. 
Serapion,  thou  art  honest;  counsel  me: 
But  haste,  each  moment  's  precious. 

Serap.    Eetire;  you  must  not  yet  see  Antony. 
He  who  began  this  mischief, 

'Tis  just  he  tempt  the  danger;  let  him  clear  you: 
And,  since  he  ofi'er'd  you  his  servile  tongue, 
To  gain  a  poor  precarious  life  from  Csesar, 
120  Let  him  expose  that  fawning  eloquence. 
And  speak  to  Antony. 

Alex.  O  heavens!    I  dare  not; 

I  meet  my  certain  death. 

Cleo.  Slave,  thou  deserv'st  it. — 

Not  that  I  fear  my  lord,  will  I  avoid  him; 
I  know  him  noble:  when  he  banish'd  me, 
And  thought  me  false,  he  scorn"d  to  take  my  life; 
But  I'll  be  justified,  and  then  die  with  him. 
Alex.    O  pity  me,  and  let  me  follow  you. 


ACT  V  293 

Cleo.    To  Jeath,  if  thou  stir  hence.     Speak,  if  thou  canst, 
Now  for  thy  life,  which  basely  thou  wouldst  save; 
130  While  mine  I  prize  at  this.     Come,  good  Scrapion. 

[Exeunt  Cleopatra,  Serapion,  Charmion,  Iras. 

Alex.     O  that  I  less  could  fear  to  lose  this  being, 
Which,  like  a  snowball  in  my  coward  hand, 
The  more  'tis  grasp'd,  the  faster  melts  away. 
Poor  reason !   what  a  wretched  aid  art  thou ! 
For  still,  in  spite  of  thee, 
These  two  long  lovers,  soul  and  body,  dread 
Their  final  separation.     Let  me  think: 
What  can  I  say,  to  save  myself  from  death? 
No  matter  what  becomes  of  Cleopatra. 
140        Ant.  [Within.]     Which  way?  where? 

Vent.   [Within.]  This  leads  to  th'  monument. 

Alex.     Ah  me;     I  hear  him;  yet  I'm  unprepar'd: 
My  gift  of  lying   's  gone; 

And  this  court  devil,  which  I  so  oft  have  rais'd, 
Forsakes  me  at  my  need.    I  dare  not  stay; 
Yet  cannot  far  go  hence.  [Exit. 

Enter  Antony  and  Ventiditjs. 

Ant.     0  happy  Caesar;   thou  hast  men  to  lead: 
Think  not  'tis  thou  hast  conquer'd  Antony; 
But  Eome  has  conquer'd  Egypt.     I'm  betray 'd. 
Vent.     Curse  on  this  treach'rous  train! 
150  Their  soil  and  heav'n  infect  'em  all  with  baseness: 
And  their  young  souls  come  tainted  to  the  world 
With  the  first  breath  they  draw. 

A7it.     Th'  original  villain  sure  no  god  created; 
lie  was  a  bastard  of  the  sun,  by  Nile, 
Ap'd  into  man ;  with  all  his  mother's  mud 
Crusted  about  his  soul. 

Vent.  The  nation  is 

One  universal  traitor;  and  their  queen 
The  very  spirit  and  extract  of  'em  all. 
Ant.     Is  there  yet  left 
160  A  possibility  of  aid  from  valor? 

Is  there  one  god  unsworn  to  my  destruction? 

The  least  unmortgag'd  hope?  for,  if  there  be, 

Mcthinks  I  cannot  fall  beneath  the  fate 

Of  such  a  boy  as  Caesar. 

The  world's  one  half  is  yet  in  Antony ; 

And  from  each  limb  of  it  that  's  litwM  away, 

The  soul  comes  back  to  me. 

Vent.  There  yet  remain 

Three  legions  in  the  town.     The  last  assault 
Lopp'd  off  the  rest:   if  death  be  your  design — 
170  As  I  must  wish  it  now — these  are  sufficient 


294  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

To  make  a  heap  about  us  of  dead  foes, 
An  honest  pile  for  burial. 

Ant.  They're  enough. 

We'll  not  divide  our  stars;  but,  side  by  side, 
Fight  emulous,  and  with  malicious  eyes 
Survey  each  other's  acts.     So,  every  death 
Thou  giv'st,  I'll  take  on  me,  as  a  just  debt. 
And  pay  thee  back  a  soul. 

Vent.     Now  you  shall  see  I  love  you.     Not  a  word 
Of  chiding  more.     By  my  few  hours  of  life, 
180  I  am  so  pleas'd  with  this  brave  Roman  fate, 
That  I  would  not  be  Cfpsar,  to  outlive  you. 
When  we  put  off  this  flesh,  and  mount  together, 
I  shall  be  shown  to  all  th'  ethereal  crowd: 
"Lo,  this  is  he  who  died  with  Antony!'' 

Ant.    Who  knows,  but  we  may  pierce  thro'  all  their  troops. 
And  reach  my  veterans  yet?     'Tis  worth  the  'tempting, 
T'  o'erleap  this  gulf  of  fate, 
And  leave  our  wond'ring  destinies  behind. 

Enter  Alexas,  trembling. 

Vent.     See,  see,  that  villain! 
190  See  Cleopatra  stamp'd  upon  that   face. 

With  all  her  cunning,  all  her  arts  of  falsehood! 

How  she  looks  out  thro'  those  dissembling  eyes ! 

How  he  has  set  his  count'nance  for  deceit. 

And  promises  a  lie,  before  he  speaks! 

Let  me  dispatch  him  first.  [Drawing. 

Alex.  O  spare  me,  spare  me! 

Ant.     Hold;  he  's  not  worth  your  killing.     On  thy  life, 
(Which  thou  may'st  keep,  because  I  scorn  to  take  it,) 
No  syllable  to  justify  thy  queen; 
Save  thy  base  tongue  its  office. 

Alex.  Sir,  she    's  gone, 

200  Where  she  shall  never  be  molested  more 
By  love,  or  you. 

Ant.     Fled  to  her  Dolabella ! 
Die,  traitor!     I  revoke  my  promise!  die!  [Going  to  l-ill  him, 

Alex.     O  hold!   she  is  not  fled. 

Ant.  She  is:   my  eyes 

Are  open  to  her  falsehood ;  my  whole  life 
Has  been  a  golden  dream  of  love  and  friendship; 
But,  now  I  wake,  I'm  like  a  merchant,  rous'd 
From  soft  repose,  to  see  his  vessel  sinking, 
And  all  his  wealth  cast  o'er.     Ingrateful  woman! 
Who  follow'd  me,  but  as  the  swallow  summer, 

188.     wond'ring]    Ql.      wand'rinp   Q2Q3FSsM. 

19.S.     he  has  set]  Ql.     he  sets  Q2Q3FSsM,  to  the  injury  of  the  meter. 

208.     o'er.    Ingrateful]  QqF.     over.    Ungrateful  SsM. 


ACT  V  295 

210  Hatching  her  young  on^s  in  my  kindly  beams, 
Singing  her  flatfries  to  my  morning  wake: 
But,  now  my  winter  comes,  she  spreads  her  wings, 
And  seeks  the  spring  of  Casar. 

Alex.  Think  not  sor 

Her  fortunes  have,  in  all  tilings,  mix'd  with  yours. 
Had  she  betray'd  her  naval  force  to  Rome, 
How  easily  might  she  have  gone  to  Cajsar, 
Secure  by  such  a  bribe! 

Vent.  She  sent  it  first, 

To  be  more  welcome  after. 

Ant.  'Tis  too  plain; 

Else  would  she  have  appear'd,  to  clear  herself. 
220         Alex.     Too  fatally  she  has:   she  could  not  bear 
To  be  accus'd  by  you;  but  shut  herself 
Within  her  monument;  look'd  down  and  sigh'd; 
While,  from  her  unchang'd  face,  the  silent  tears 
Dropp'd,  as  they  had  not  leave,  but  stole  their  parting. 
Some  undistinguish'd  words  she  inly  murmur'd; 
At  last,  she  rais'd  her  eyes;  and,  with  such  looks 
As  dying  Lucrece  cast 

Ant.  My  heart  forebodes 

Vent.     All   for  the  best:    go  on. 

Alex.  She  snatch 'd  her  poniard. 

And,  ere  we  could  prevent  the  fatal  blow, 
230  Plung'd  it  within  her  breast ;  then  turn'd  to  me : 
"Go,  bear  my  lord,"  said  she,  "my  last  farewell; 
And  ask  him  if  he  yet  suspect  my  faith." 
More  she  was  saying,  but  death  rush'd  betwixt. 
She  half  pronounc'd  your  name  with  her  last  breath. 
And  buried  half  within  her. 

Vent.  Heav'n  be  prais'd! 

Ant.    Then  art  thou  innocent,  my  poor  dear  love? 
And  art  thou  dead? 

O  those  two  words!   their  sound  should  be  divided: 
Hadst  thou  been  false,  and  died;  or  hadst  thou  liv'd, 
240  And  hadst  been  true. — But  innocence  and  death! 
This  shows  not  well  above.     Then  what  am  I, 
The  murderer  of  this  truth,  this  innocence! 
Thoughts  cannot  form  themselves  in  words  so  horrid 
As  can  express  my  guilt! 

Vent.     Is  't  come  to  this?    The  gods  have  been  too  gracious; 
And  thus  you  thank  'em  for  't! 

Ant.  [To  Alex.]     Why  stay'st  thou  here? 
Is  it  for  thee  to  spy  upon  my  soul. 
And  see  its  inward  mourning?     Get  thee  hence; 
Thou  art  not  worthy  to  behold  what  now 
250  Becomes  a  Roman  emperor  to  perform. 

Alex.  [Aside.]     He  loves  her  still: 


296  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

His  grief  betrays  it.     Good!   the  joy  to  find 

She  's  yet  alive,  completes  the  reconcilement. 

I"ve  sav'd  myself,  and  her.    But,  O!  the  Romans  1 

Fate  comes  too  fast  upon  my  wit, 

Hunts  me  too  hard,  and  meets  me  at  each  double.  [Exit. 

Vent.     Would  she  had  died  a  little  sooner,  tho', 
Before  Octavia  went ;  you  might  have  treated : 
Now  'twill  look  tame,  and  would  not  be  receiv'd. 
260  Come,  rouse  yourself,   and   let    's   die  warm  together. 

Ant.     I  will  not  fight:  there  's  no  more  work  for  war. 
The  bus'ness  of  my  angry  hours  is  done. 

Vent.     Caesar  is  at  your  gates. 

Aiit.  Why,  let  him  enter; 

He  's  welcome  now. 

Vent.     What  lethargy  has  crept  into  your  soul? 

Ant.     'Tis  but  a  scorn  of  life,  and  just  desire 
To  free  myself  from  bondage. 

Vent.  Do  it  bravely. 

Ant.     I  will;  but  not  by  fighting.     O,  Ventidius! 
What  should  I  fight  for  now?    My  queen  is  dead. 
270  I  was  but  great  for  her ;   my  pow  'r,  my  empire, 
Were  but  my  merchandise  to  buy  her  love; 
And  conquer'd  kings,  my  factors.     Now  she  "s  dead, 

Let  Caesar  take  the  world 

An  empty  circle,  since  the  jewel  's  gone 

Which  made  it  worth  my  strife:  my  being  's  nauseous; 

For  all  the  bribes  of  life  are  gone  away. 

Vent.     Would  you  be  taken? 

Ant.  Yes,  I  would  be  taken; 

But,  as  a  Roman  ought, — dead,  my  Ventidius: 
For  I'll  convey  my  soul  from  Ctesar's  reach, 
280  And  lay  down  life  myself.      'Tis  time  the  world 
Should  have  a  lord,  and  know  whom  to  obey. 
We  two  have  kept  its  homage  in  suspense. 
And  bent  the  globe  on  whose  each  side  we  trod, 
Till  it  was  dinted  inwards.     Let  him  walk 
Alone  upon  't:     I'm  weary  of  my  part. 
My  torch  is  out;  and  the  world  stands  before  me, 
Like  a  black  desart  at  th'  approach  of  night: 
I'll  lay  me  down,  and  stray  no  farther  on. 

Vent.     I  could  be  griev'd, 
290  But  that  I'll  not  outlive  you:   choose  your  death; 
For,  I  have  seen  him  in  such  various  shapes, 
I  care  not  which  I  take:  I'm  only  troubled 
The  life  I  bear  is  worn  to  such  a  rag, 

257,  258.  Would  .  .  .  vent;']  So  punctuated  in  QqF ;  SsM  place  an 
exclamation  point  after  tho'  and  a  comma  after  tcent. 

284.     dinted]   Qq.     dented  FSsM. 

292.  troubled]  QqP  have  no  punctuation  after  tliis  word  ;  SsM  insert  a 
comma. 


ACT  V  297 

'Tis  scarce  worth  giving.     I  could  wish,  indeed, 

We  threw  it  from  us  with  a  better  grace; 

That,  like  two  lions  taken  in  the  toils. 

We  might  at  least  thrust  out  our  paws,  and  wound 

The  hunters  that  inclose  us. 

A7it.  I  have  thought  on   't. 

Ventidius,  you  must  live. 

Vent.  I  must  not,  sir. 

300        Ant.    Wilt  thou  not  live,  to  speak  some  good  of  me? 
To  stand  by  my  fair  fame,  and  guard  th'  approaches 
From  the  ill  tongues  of  men? 

Vent.  Who  shall  guard  mine. 

For  living  after  you? 

Ant.  Say,  I  command  it. 

Vent.     If  we  die  well  our  deaths  will  speak  themselves, 
And  need  no  living  witness. 

Ant.  Thou  hast  lov'd  me. 

And  fain  I  would  reward  thee.     I  must  die; 
Kill  me,  and  take  the  merit  of  my  death. 
To  make  thee  friends  with  Caesar. 

Vent.  Thank  your  kindness, 

^ou  said  I  lov'd  you ;  and  in  recompense, 
310  You  bid  me  turn  a  traitor.    Did  I  think 

You  would  have  us'd  me  thus? — that  I  should  die 
With  a  hard  thought  of  you? 

Ant.  Forgive  me,  Roman. 

Since  I  have  heard  of  Cleopatra's  death, 
My  reason  bears  no  rule  upon  my  tongue. 
But  lets  my  thoughts  break  all  at  random  out. 
I've  thought  better;   do  not  deny  me  twice. 

Vent.     By  heav'n  I  will  not. 
Let  it  not  be  t'  outlive  you. 

Ant.  Kill  me  first, 

And  then  die  thou;  for  "tis  but  just  thou  serve 
320  Thy  friend,  before  thyself. 

Vent.  Give  me  your  hand. 

We  soon  shall  meet  again.     Now,  farewell,  emperor!  [Embrace. 

Methinks  that  word's  too  cold  to  be  my  last : 
Since  death   sweeps  all  distinctions,   farewell,  friend! 

That's  all 

I  will  not  make  a  bus'ness  of  a  trifle; 

And  yet  I  cannot  look  on  you,  and  kill  you; 

Pray  turn  your  face. 

Ant.  I  do:   strike  homo,  be  sure. 

Vent.     Home  as  my  sword  will  reach.  [Kills  himself. 

Ant.  O.  thou  mistak'st; 

297.     at  leant]  Ql.     at  lant  Q2Q.3FSSM. 

323.      all]    Ql.      OmittPd  by   Q2Q3F. 

327.     lioine,  be  nurc]  Ql.     home  sure  Q2Q3F. 


298  ALL  FOE  LOVE 

That  wound  was  none  of  thine;  give  it  me  back: 
330  Thou  robb'st  me  of  my  death. 

Vent.  I  do  indeed  ; 

But  think  'tis  the  first  time  I  e'er  deceiv'd  you, 

If  that  may  plead  my  pardon.     And  you,  gods, 

Forgive  me,  if  you  wdll;  for  I  die  perjur'd, 

Kather  than  kill  my  friend.  [Dies. 

Ant.     Farewell!    Ever  my  leader,  ev'n  in  death  I 

My  queen  and  thou  have  got  the  start  of  me, 

And  I'm  the  lag  of  honor. — Gone  so  soon? 

Is  Death  no  more?     He  us'd  him  carelessly, 

With  a  familiar  kindness:  ere  he  knock'd, 
340  Ran  to  the  door,  and  took  him  in  his  arms, 

As  who  should  say:    "Y'are  welcome  at  all  hours, 

A  friend  need  give  no  warning."     Books  had  spoil'd  him; 

For  all  the  learn'd  are  cowards  by  profession. 

'Tis  not  worth 

My  farther  thought;  for  death,  for  aught  I  know. 

Is  but  to  think  no  more.     Here's  to  be  satisfied.  [Foils  on  his  sword. 

I've  miss'd  my  heart.     O  unperforming  hand! 

Thou  never  couldst  have  err'd  in  a  worse  time. 

My  fortune  jades  me  to  the  last ;  and  death, 
350  Like  a  great  man,  takes  state,  and  makes  me  wait 

For  my  admittance. [Trampling  within. 

Some,  perhaps,  from  Caesar : 

If  he  should  find  me  living,  and  suspect 

That  I  play'd  booty  with  my  life!     I'll  mend 

My  work,  ere  they  can  reach  me.  [Bises  upon  his  Tcnees. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmion,  Iras. 

Cleo.     Where  is  my  lord?  where  is  he?  ' 

Char.  There  he  lies, 

And  dead  Ventidius  by  him. 

Cleo.     My  fears  wore  prophets;  I  am  come  too  late. 
O  that  accurst  Alexas!  [Eims  to  him. 

Ant.  Art  thou  living? 

Or  am  I  dead  before  I  knew,  and  thou 
360  The  first  kind  ghost  that  meets  me? 

Cleo.  Help  me  seat  him. 

Send  quickly,  send  for  help!  [They  place  him  in  a  chair. 

Ant.  I  am  answer 'd. 

We  live  both.     Sit  thee  down,  my  Cleopatra: 
I'll  make  the  most  I  can  of  life,  to  stay 
A  moment  more  with  thee. 

Cleo.     How  is  it  with  you? 

Ant.  'Tis  as  with  a  man 

Removing  in  a  hurry;  all  pack'd  up, 
But  one  dear  jewel  that  his  haste  forgot; 

329.     none]   QqF.     not  SsM. 


ACT  V  299 

And  he,  for  that,  returns  upon  the  spur: 
So  I  come  back,  for  thee. 
370        Cleo.     Too  long,  you  heav'ns,  you  have  been  cruel  to  me: 
Now  show  your  mended  faith,  and  give  me  back 
His  fleeting  life! 

A7it.  It  will  not  be,  my  love; 

I  keep  my  soul  by  force. 
Say  but  thou  art  not  false. 

Cleo.  'Tis  now  too  late 

To  saj'  I'm  true:  I'll  prove  it,  and  die  with  you. 
Unknown  to  me,  Alexas  feign'd  my  death: 
Which  when  I  knew,  I  hasted  to  prevent 
This  fatal  consequence.     My  fleet  betray'd 
Both  you  and  me. 

Ant.  And  Dolabella 

Cleo.  Scarce 

380  Estoem'd  before  he  lov'd;  but  hated  now. 

Ant.     Enough:   my  lifes  not  long  enough  for  more. 
Thou  say'st  thou  wilt  come  after:  I  believe  thee; 
Pur  I  can  now  believe  whate'er  thou  say'st, 
That  we  may  part  more  kindly. 

Cleo.  1  will  come: 

Doubt  not,  my  life,  I'll  come,  and  quickly  too : 
Ca;sar  shall  triumph  o'er  no  part  of  thee. 

Ant.     But  grieve  not,  while  thou  stay'st, 
My  last  disastrous  times: 
Think  we  have  had  a  clear  and  glorious  day; 
390  And  heav'n  did  kindly  to  delay  the  storm. 

Just  till  our  close  of  ev'ning.     Ten  years'  love, 
And  not  a  moment  lost,  but  all  improv'd 
To  th'  utmost  joys, — what  ages  have  we  liv'd! 
And  now  to  die  each  other's;  and,  so  dying, 
While  hand  in  hand  we  walk  in  groves  below, 
Whole  troops  of  lovers'  ghosts  shall  flock  about  us, 
And  all  the  train  be  ours. 

Cleo.     Your  words  are  like  the  notes  of  dying  swans, 
Too  sweet  to  last.     Were  there  so  many  hours 
00  For  your  unkindness,  and  not  one  for  love? 

Ant.     No,  not  a  minute. — This  one  kiss — more  worth 
Than  all  I  leave  to  Caesar.  [Dies. 

Cleo.     O  tell  me  so  again, 
And  take  ten  thousand  kisses  for  that  word. 
My  lord,  my  lord!  speak,  if  you  yet  have  being; 
Sigh  to  me,  if  you  cannot  speak ;  or  cast 

370.     you  heav'iifil  QqF.     pe  hcarcna  SsM. 

379.     ticarcc].     Joined  to  the  following  line  in  QqF  :  the  text  follows  SsM. 
387.      stay'st,]     QqF    have   no    punctuation   after    this   word ;    SsM   Insert 
the  comma. 

:ui.s.     suans]   Q1Q2.     aican  Q3F. 
400.      Hi'jh]   tiqF.     iiign  SsM. 


300  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

One  look!     Do  anything  that  shows  you  live. 

Iras.     He's  gone  too  far  to  hear  you; 
And  this  you  see,  a  lump  of  senseless  clay, 
410  The  leavings  of  a  soul. 

Char.  Eeniember,  madam, 

He  charg'd  you  not  to  grieve. 

Cleo.  And  I'll  obey  him. 

I  have  not  lov'd  a  Eoman,  not  to  know 
What  should  become  his  wife;  his  Avife,  my  Charmion! 
For  'tis  to  that  high  title  I  aspire; 
And  now  I'll  not  die  less.     Let  dull  Octavia 
Survive,  to  mourn  him  dead:  my  nobler  fate 
Shall  knit  our  spousals  with  a  tie  too  strong 
For  Roman  laws  to  break. 

Iras.  Will   you   then   die? 

Cleo.     Why  shouldst  thou  make  that  question? 
420        Iras.     Caesar  is  merciful. 

Cleo.  Let  him  be   so 

To  those  that  want  his  mercy:  my  poor  lord 
Made  no  such  cov'nant  with  him,  to  spare  me 
When  he  was  dead.    Yield  me  to  Caesar's  pride? 
What!  to  be  led  in  triumph  thro'  the  streets, 
A  spectacle  to  base  plebeian  eyes; 
While  some  dejected  friend  of  Antony's, 
Close  in  a  corner,  shakes  his  head,  and  mutters 
A  secret  curse  on  her  who  ruin'd  him! 
I'll  none  of  that. 

Char.     Whatever  you  resolve, 
430  I'll  follow,  ev'n  to  death. 

Iras.  1  only  fear'd 

For  you;  but  more  should  fear  to  live  without  you. 

Cleo.     Why,  now,  'tis  as  it  should  be.     Quick,  my  friends. 
Dispatch ;   ere  this,  the  town's  in  CaBsar's  hands : 
My  lord  looks  down  concern'd,  and  fears  my  stay. 
Lest  I  should  be  surpris'd; 
Keep  him  not  waiting  for  his  love  too  long. 
You,  Charmion,  bring  my  crown  and  richest  jewels; 
With  'em,  the  wreath  of  victory  I  made 
(Vain  augury!)  for  him,  who  now  lies  dead: 
440  You,  Iras,  bring  the  cure  of  all  our  ills. 

Iras.     The  aspics,  madam? 

Cleo.  Must  I  bid  you  twice?     [Exeunt  Charmion  and  Iras. 

'Tis  sweet  to  die,  when  they  would  force  life  on  me; 
To  rush  into  the  dark  abode  of  Death, 
And  seize  him  first;  if  he  be  like  my  love, 
He  is  not  frightful,  sure. 
We're  now  alone,  in  secrecy  and  silence; 
And  is  not  this  like  lovers?     I  may  kiss 
These  pale,  cold  lips;  Octavia  does  not  see  me: 


ACT  V  301 

And,  O!   'tis  botfcr  far  to  have  him  tlius, 
450  Than  see  him  in  her  arms. — O,  welcome,  welcome! 

Enter  Chakmion,  Iras. 

Char.     What  must  be  done? 

Clco,  Short  ceremony,  friends; 

But  yet  it  must  be  decent.     First,  this  laurel 
Shall  crown  my  hero's  head:  he  fell  not  basely, 
Nor  left  his  shield  behind  him.    Only  thou 
Couldst  triumph  o'er  thyself;  and  thou  alone 
Wert  worthy  so  to  triumph. 

Char.  To  what  end 

These  ensigns  of  your  pomp  and  royalty? 

Cleo.     Dull  that  thou  art!  why,  'tis  to  meet  my  love; 
As  when  I  saw  him  first,  on  Cydnos'  bank, 
60  All  sparkling,  like  a  goddess:   so  adorn"d, 
I'll  find  him  once  again;  my  second  spousals 
Shall  match  my  first  in  glory.     Haste,  haste,  both, 
And  dress  the  bride  of  Antony. 

Char.  'Tis  done. 

Cleo.     Now  seat  me  by  my  lord.     I  claim  this  place; 
For  I  must  conquer  Ca?sar  too,  like  him, 
And  win  my  share  o'  th'  world.     Hail,  you  dear  relics 
Of  my  immortal  love ! 
O  let  no  impious  hand  remove  you  hence, 
But  rest  for  ever  here !     Let  Egypt  give 
470  His  death  that  peace   which   it  denied  his  life. 
Eeach  me  the  casket. 

Iras.  Underneath  the  fruit 

The  aspic  lies. 

Clco.  [tutting  aside  the  leaves.']    Welcome,  thou  kind  deceiver  I 
Thou  best  of  thieves;  who,  with  an  easy  key. 
Dost  open  life,  and,  unperceiv'd  by  us, 
Ev'n  steal  us  from  ourselves;   discharging  so 
Death's  dreadful  office,  better  than  himself; 
Touching  our  limbs  so  gently  into  slumber, 
That  Death  stands  by,  deceiv'd  by  his  own  image, 
And  thinks  himself  but  Sleep. 

Scrap.  [JVithin.]    The  queen,  where  is  she? 
480  The  town  is  yielded,  Cffisar's  at  the  gates. 

Cleo.     He  comes  too  late  t'  invade  the  rights  of  death. 
Haste,  bare  my  arm,  and  rouse  the  serpent's  fury. 

[Holds  out  her  arm,  and  dratcs  it  hack. 
Coward  flesh, 

Wouldst  thou  conspire  with  Caesar  to  betray  me. 
As  thou  wert  none  of  mine?    I'll  force  thee  to  't, 
And  not  be  sent  by  him, 

471-72.      Underneath     .     .     .     lies.]   So    arrangod    in    SsM  ;    ono    lim^    in 
QqF. 


302  ALL  FOR  LOVE 

But  bring  myself,  my  soul  to  Antony. 

[Turns  aside,  and  then  shows  her  arm  bloody. 
Take  hence;  the  work  is  done. 

Scrap.   [Within.]  Break  ope  the  door, 

And  guard  the  traitor  well. 

Char.  The  next  is  ours. 

490        Iras.     Now,  Charmion,  to  be  worthy 

Of  our  great  queen  and  mistress.  [They  apply  the  aspics. 

Cleo.     Already,  death,  I  feel  thee  in  my  veins: 
I  go  with  such  a  will  to  find  my  lord. 
That  we  shall  quickly  meet. 
A  heavy  numbness  creeps  thro'  every  limb. 
And  now  'tis  at  my  head:  my  eyelids  fall. 
And  my  dear  love  is  vanish'd  in  a  mist. 
Where  shall  I  find  him,  where?    O  turn  me  to  him. 
And  lay  me  on  his  breast! — Csesar,  thy  worst; 
500  Now  part  us,  if  thou  canst.  [Dies. 

[Iras  siiiTcs  down  at  her  feet,  and  dies;  Charmton 
stands  behind  her  chair,  as  dressing  her  head. 

Enter  Serapion,  two  Priests,  Alexas  hound,  Egyptians. 

Two  Priests.  Behold,  Serapion, 

What  havoc  death  has  made! 

Serap.  'Twas  what  I  fear  'd. — 

Charmion,  is  this  well  done? 

Char.     Yes,  'tis  well  done,  and  like  a  queen,  the  last 
Of  her  great  race:  I  follow  her.  [SinJcs  down;  dies. 

Alex.  'Tis  true. 

She  has  done  well :  much  better  thus  to  die. 
Than  live  to  make  a  holiday  in  Rome. 

Serap.     See, 
See  how  the  lovers  sit  in  state  together, 
As  they  were  giving  laws  to  half  mankind! 
510  Th'  impression  of  a  smile,  left  in  her  face. 

Shows  she  died  pleas'd  with  him  for  whom  she  liv'd, 

And  went  to  charm  him  in  another  world. 

Caesar's  just  ent'ring :  grief  has  now  no  leisure. 

Secure  that  villain,  as  our  pledge  of  safety, 

To  grace  th'  imperial  triumph.     Sleep,  blest  pair. 

Secure  from  human  chance,  long  ages  out. 

While  all  the  storms  of  fate  fly  o'er  your  tomb ; 

And  fame  to  late  posterity  shall  tell, 

No  lovers  liv'd  so  great,  or  died  so  well.  [Exeunt. 

497.     vanish'd'\  QqP.     vanquished  SsM. 

.500.  (stac/e  direction),  two  Priests].  2.  Triests  QqF.  Priest  SsM.  QqF 
print  the  foliowing  speecti  as  one  line  ;  SsM  arrange  as  above. 

507-08.  See,  See  how]  QqF  read  See,  see  how,  etc.,  as  one  line;  SsM 
boldly  restore  meter  by  omitting  one  see. 


EPILOGUE 

Poets,  like  disputants,  when  reasons  fail, 
Have  one  sure  refuge  left — and  that's  to  rail. 
Fop,  coxcomb,  fool,  are  thunder'd  thro'  the  pit; 
And  this  is  all  their  equipage  of  wit. 
We  wonder  how  the  devil  this  diff'rence  grows, 
Betwixt  our  fools  iu  verse,  and  yours  in  prose: 
For,  'faith,  the  quarrel  rightly  understood, 
'Tis  civil  war  with  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 
The  threadbare  author  hates  the  gaudy  coat; 

10         And  swears  at  the  gilt  coach,  but  swears  afoot: 
For  'tis  observ'd  of  every  scribbling  man. 
He  grows  a  fop  as  fast  as  e'er  he  can ; 
Pranes  up,  and  asks  his  oracle,  the  glass, 
If  pink  or  purple  best  become  his  face. 
For  our  poor  wretch,  he  neither  rails  nor  prays;' 
Nor  likes  your  wit  just  as  you  like  his  plays; 
He  has  not  yet  so  much  of  Mr.  Bayes. 
He  docs  his  best ;  and  if  he  cannot  please, 
Would  quietly  sue  out  his  utU  of  ease. 
Yet,  if  he  might  his  own  grand  jury  call. 
By  the  fair  sex  he  begs  to  stand  or  fall. 
Let  Caesar's  power  the  men's  ambition  move, 
But  grace  you  him  who  lost  the  world  for  level 
Yet  if  some  antiquated  lady  say, 
The  last  age  is  not  copied  in  his  play; 
Heav'n  help  the  man  who  for  that  face  must  drudge. 
Which  only  has  the  wrinkles  of  a  judge. 
Let  not  the  young  and  beauteous  join  with  those; 
For,  should  you  raise  such  numerous  hosts  of  foes, 

30  Young  wits  and  sparks  he  to  his  aid  must  call ; 

'Tis  more  than  one  man's  work  to  please  you  all. 


20 


THE 

SPANISH  FRIAR 

OK 

THE  DOUBLE  DISCOVERY 

Ut    melius   2^ossfs    fallere,   sume    togam. 
Martial,  viii.  48.  8. 

— Alterna  revisens 
Lusit,   et   in  solido  rursus  fortuna  locavit. 
Virgil,  ^neid,  xi.  426,  427. 

Written  by  Jolin  Drydcn,  servant  to  bis  Majesty. 


The  Spanish  Friar  was  first  printed  in  1681 ;  other  quarto  editions 
followed  in  1686,  1600,  and  1695.  These  quartos  are  cited  as  Ql,  Q2,  Q3, 
Q4.  Ql  furnishes  the  authoritative  text;  later  variants,  with  exceptions 
noted  below,  are  due  merely  to  the  printer.  Q3  was  printed  from  Q2  (see 
notes  on  p.  319,  1.  153;  p.  322,  1.  256;  p.  361,  1.  173);  Q4  was  printed 
from  Q3  (see  notes  on  p.  316,  1.  57;  p.  332,  1.  4;  p.  362,  1.  198);  and 
the  Folio  of  1701  (F)  was  printed  from  Ql  (see  notes  on  p.  321,  1.  243; 
p.  345,  1.  23;  p.  382,  1.  387).  Q3  adds  to  the  text  four  passages  of  some 
importance;  see  notes  on  p.  332,  1.  4;  p.  339,  1.  27;  p.  345,  1.  23;  p.  358, 
1.  21.  As  the  first  two  passages  contain  violent  anti-Catholic  satire,  and 
Dryden  was  already  a  Catholic  in  1690,  the  date  of  Q3,  it  is  at  least 
doubtful  whether  the  lines  were  written  by  the  poet  himself.  If  they 
are  by  him,  they  were  probably  suppressed  on  the  publication  of  Ql,  and 
later  restored  from  a  stage  copy. 


TO 

THE  RIGHT   HONORABLE 
JOHN 

LORD  HAUGHTON 

My  Lord, 
When  I  first  design'd  this  play,  I  found,  or  thought  I  found,  somewhat 
so  moving  in  the  serious  part  of  it,  and  so  pleasant  in  the  comic,  as 
might  deserve  a  more  than  ordinary  care  in  both;  accordingly  I  us'd  the 
best  of  my  endeavor  in  the  management  of  two  plots,  so  very  different 
from  each  other,  that  it  was  not,  perhaps,  the  talent  of  every  writer  to 
have  made  them  of  a  piece.  Neither  have  I  attempted  other  plays  of 
the  same  nature,  in  my  opinion,  with  the  same  judgment,  tho'  with  like 
success.     And  tho'  many  poets  may  suspect  themselves  for  the  fondness 

10  and  partiality  of  parents  to  their  youngest  children,  yet  I  hope  I  may 
stand  exempted  from  this  rule,  because  I  know  myself  too  well  to  be 
ever  satisfied  with  my  own  conceptions,  which  have  seldom  reach'd  to 
those  ideas  that  I  had  within  me;  and  consequently,  I  presume  I  may 
have  liberty  to  judge  when  I  write  more  or  less  pardonably,  as  an 
ordinary  marksman  may  know  certainly  when  he  shoots  less  wide  at 
what  he  aims.  Besides,  the  care  and  pains  I  have  bestow'd  on  this, 
beyond  my  other  tragi-comedies,  may  reasonably  make  the  world  con- 
clude, that  either  I  can  do  nothing  tolerably,  or  that  this  poem  is  not 
much    amiss.      Few    good    pictures    have   been    finish'd    at    one    sitting; 

20  neither  can  a  true  just  play,  which  is  to  bear  the  test  of  ages,  be 
produe'd  at  a  heat,  or  by  the  force  of  fancy,  without  the  maturity  of 
judgment.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  both  so  just  a  diffidence  of  myself, 
and  so  great  a  reverence  for  my  audience,  that  I  dare  venture  nothing 
without  a  strict  examination ;  and  am  as  much  asham'd  to  put  a  loose 
indigested  play  upon  the  public,  as  I  should  be  to  offer  brass  money  in 
a  payment;  for  tho'  it  should  be  taken  (as  it  is  too  often  on  the  stage), 
yet  it  will  be  found  in  the  second  telling;  and  a  judicious  reader  will 
discover,  in  his  closet,  that  trashy  stuff  whose  glittering  deceiv'd  him 
in  the  action.     I  have  often  heard  the  stationer  sighing  in  his  shop,  and 

30  wishing  for  those  hands  to  take  off  his  melancholy  bargain  which  clapp'd 
its  performance  on  the  stage.  In  a  playhouse  everything  contributes 
to  impose  upon  the  judgment ;  the  lights,  the  scenes,  the  habits,  and, 
above  all,  the  grace  of  action,  which  is  commonly  the  best  where  there 
is  the  most  need  of  it,  surprise  the  audience,  and  cast  a  mist  upon  their 
understandings;    not   unlike   the   cunning   of   a   juggler,   who  is  always 

307 


308  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

staring  us  in  the  face,  and  overwhelming  us  with  gibberish,  only  that 
he  may  gain  the  opportunity  of  making  the  cleaner  conveyance  of  his 
trick.,  But  these  false  beauties  of  the  stage  are  no  more  lasting  than 
a  rainbow;  when  the  actor  ceases  to  shine  upon  them,  when  he  gilds 
them  no  longer  with  his  reflection,  they  vanish  in  a  twinkling.  I  have 
sometimes  wonder'd,  in  the  reading,  what  was  become  of  those  glaring 
colors  which  amaz'd  me  in  Busf<y  d'Amhois  upon  the  theater;  but  when 
1  had  taken  up  what  I  suppos'd  a  fallen  star,  I  found  I  had  been 
eozen'd  with  a  jelly;   nothing  but  a  cold,  dull  mass,  which  glitter'd  no 

10  longer  than  it  was  shooting;  a  dwarfish  thought,  dress'd  up  in  gigantic 
words,  repetition  in  abundance,  looseness  of  expression,  and  gross 
hyperboles;  the  sense  of  one  line  expanded  prodigiously  into  ten;  and, 
to  sum  up  all,  uncorrect  English,  and  a  hideous  mingle  of  false  poetry 
and  true  nonsense;  or,  at  best,  a  scantling  of  wit,  which  lay  gasping 
for  life,  and  groaning  beneath  a  heap  of  rubbish.  A  famous  modern 
poet  us"d  to  sacrifice  every  year  a  Statins  to  Virgil's  manes;  and  I  have 
indignation  enough  to  burn  a  d'Amhois  annually,  to  the  memory  of 
Jonson.  But  now,  my  Lord,  I  am  sensible,  perhaps  too  late,  that  I  have 
gone   too   far ;    for   I  remember  some  verses  of   my   own   Maximin   and 

20  Almanzor  which  cry  vengeance  upon  me  for  their  extravagance,  and 
which  I  wish  heartily  in  the  same  fire  with  Statius  and  Chapman.  All 
I  can  say  for  those  passages,  which  are,  I  hope,  not  many,  is,  that  I 
knew  they  were  bad  enough  to  please,  even  when  I  writ  them;  but  I 
repent  of  them  amongst  my  sins;  and,  if  any  of  their  fellows  intrude 
by  chance  into  my  present  writings,  I  draw  a  stroke  over  all  those 
Dalilahs  of  the  theater;  and  am  resolv'd  I  will  settle  myself  no  reputa- 
tion by  the  applause  of  fools.  'Tis  not  that  I  am  mortified  to  all 
ambition,  but  I  scorn  as  much  to  take  it  from  half-witted  judges,  as  I 
should  to  raise  an  estate  by  cheating  of  bubbles.     Neither  do  I  discom- 

30  mend  the  lofty  style  in  tragedy,  which  i^  naturally  pompous  and  mag- 
nificent; but  nothing  is  truly  sublime  that  is  not  just  and  proper.  If 
the  ancients  had  judg'd  by  the  same  measures  which  a  common  reader 
takes,  they  had  concluded  Statius  to  have  written  higher  than  Virgil,  for, 

Quw  superimposito  moles  gcminata  colosso 

carries  a  more  thund'ring  kind  of  sound  than  • 

lityre,  tu  patulce  recuhans  sub  tegmine  fagi: 

yet  Virgil  had  all  the  majesty  of  a  lawful  prince,  and  Statius  only  the 
blust'ring  of  a  tyrant.  But  when  men  affect  a  virtue  which  they  cannot 
reach,  they  fall  into  a  vice  which  bears  the  nearest  resemblance  to  it. 
40  Thus  an  injudicious  poet  who  aims  at  loftiness  runs  easily  into  the 
swelling  puffy  style,  because  it  looks  like  greatness.  I  remember,  when 
I  was  a  boy,  I  thought  inimitable  Spenser  a  mean  poet,  in  comparison 
of  Sylvester's  Bubartas,  and  was  rapt  into  an  ecstasy  when  I  read  these 
lines: 

38.  cannot  reach}   QqF.     cannot  easi'iti  reach  Ss^IK, 

39.  to  it]  QIF.     of  it  Q2Q3Q4. 


DEDICATION  309 

Now,  \Yhen  the  winter's  keener  breath  began 
To  crystallize  the  Baltic  ocean; 
To  glaze  the  lakes,  to  bridle  up  the  floods, 
And   periwig   with   snow   the   baldpate   woods. 

I  am  much  deceiv'd  if  this  be  not  abominable  fustian,  that  is,  thoughts 
and  words  ill-sorted,  and  without  the  least  relation  to  each  other;  yet  I 
dare  not  answer  for  an  audience,  that  they  would  not  clap  it  on  the 
stage:  so  little  value  there  is  to  be  given  to  the  common  cry,  that  noth- 
ing but  madness  can  please  madmen,  and  a  poet  must  be  of  a  piece  with 

10  the  spectators,  to  gain  a  reputation  with  them.  But,  as  in  a  room 
contriv'd  for  state  the  height  of  the  roof  should  bear  a  proportion  to 
the  area;  so,  in  the  height'nings  of  poetry,  the  strength  and  vehemence 
of  figures  should  be  suited  to  the  occasion,  the  subject,  and  the  persons. 
All  beyond  this  is  monstrous:  'tis  out  of  nature,  'tis  an  excrescence, 
and  not  a  living  part  of  poetry.  I  had  not  said  thus  much,  if  some 
young  gallants,  who  pretend  to  criticism,  had  not  told  me  that  this  tragi- 
comedy wanted  the  dignity  of  style;  but,  as  a  man  who  is  charg'd  with  a 
crime  of  which  he  thinks  himself  innocent  is  apt  to  be  too  eager  in  his 
own  defense;  so  perhaps  I  have  vindicated  my  play  with  more  partiality 

20  than  I  ought,  or  than  such  a  trifle  can  deserve.  Yet,  whatever  beauties 
it  may  want,  "tis  free  at  least  from  the  grossness  of  those  faults  I 
mention'd:  what  credit  it  has  gaiii'd  upon  the  stage,  I  value  no  farther 
than  in  reference  to  my  profit  and  the  satisfaction  I  had  in  seeing  it 
represented  with  all  the  justness  and  gracefulness  of  action.  But,  as  'tis 
my  interest  to  please  my  audience,  so  'tis  my  ambition  to  be  read.  That 
I  am  sure  is  the  more  lasting  and  the  nobler  design;  for  the  propriety 
of  thoughts  and  words,  which  are  the  hidden  beauties  of  a  play,  are  but 
confus'dly  judg'd  in  the  vehemence  of  action:  all  things  are  there  beheld 
as  in  a  hasty  motion,  where  the  objects  only  glide  before  the  eye,  and 

30  disappear.  The  most  discerning  critic  can  judge  no  more  of  these  silent 
graces  in  the  action  than  he  who  rides  post  thro'  an  unknown  country 
can  distinguish  the  situation  of  places,  and  the  nature  of  the  soil.  The 
purity  of  phrase,  the  clearness  of  conception  and  expression,  the  boldness 
maintain'd  to  majesty,  the  significancy  and  sound  of  words,  not  strain'd 
into  bombast,  but  justly  elevated;  in  short,  those  very  words  and 
thoughts  which  cannot  be  chang'd  but  for  the  worse,  must  of.  necessity 
escape  our  transient  view  upon  the  theater;  and  yet,  without  all  these,  a 
play  may  take.  For,  if  either  the  story  move  us,  or  the  actor  help  the 
lameness  of  it  with  his  performance,  or  now  and  then  a  glittering  beam 

40  of  wit  or  passion  strike  thro'  the  obscurity  of  the  poem,  any  of  these 
are  sufiicient  to  effect  a  present  liking,  but  not  to  fix  a  lasting  admira- 
tion; for  nothing  but  truth  can  long  continue;  and  time  is  the  surest 
judge  of  truth.  I  am  not  vain  enough  to  think  I  have  left  no  faults  in 
this  which  that  touchstone  will  not  discover ;  neither,  indeed,  is  it  pos- 
sible to  avoid  them  in  a  play  of  this  nature.  There  are  evidently  two 
actions  in  it;  but  it  will  be  clear  to  any  judicious  man  that  with  half 


44.     u-ill  not]   QIF.     wit  not  Q2.      ivit  iriU  not  Q?,Qi. 


310  THE  SPANISH  PRIAR 

the  pains  I  could  have  rais'd  a  play  from  either  of  them;  for  this  time 
I  satisfied  my  own  humor,  which  was  to  tack  two  plays  together,  and  to 
break  a  rule  for  the  pleasure  of  variety.  The  truth  is,  the  audience  are 
grown  weary  of  continued  melancholy  scenes;  and  I  dare  venture  to 
prophesy  that  few  tragedies,  except  those  in  verse,  shall  succeed  in  this 
age,  if  they  are  not  lighten  'd  with  a  course  of  mirth ;  for  the  feast  is 
too  dull  and  solemn  without  the  fiddles.  But  how  difficult  a  task  this  is, 
will  soon  be  tried;  for  a  several  genius  is  requir'd  to  either  way;  and, 
without  both  of  'em,  a  man,  in  my  opinion,  is  but  half  a  poet  for  the 

10  stage.  Neither  is  it  so  trivial  an  undertaking  to  make  a  tragedy  end 
happily;  for  'tis  more  difficult  to  save  than  'tis  to  kill.  The  dagger  and 
the  cup  of  poison  are  always  in  a  readiness;  but  to  bring  the  action  to 
the  last  extremity,  and  then  by  probable  means  to  recover  all,  will 
require  the  art  and  judgment  of  a  writer,  and  cost  him  many  a  pang 
in  the  performance. 

And  now,  my  Lord,  I  must  confess  that  what  I  have  written  looks 
more  like  a  Preface  than  a  Dedication;  and,  truly,  it  was  thus  far  my 
design,  that  I  might  entertain  you  with  somewhat  in  my  own  art  which 
might  be  more  worthy  of  a  noble  mind  than  the  stale  exploded  trick  of 

20  fulsome  panegyrics.  'Tis  difficult  to  write  justly  on  anything,  but  almost 
impossible  in  praise.  I  shall  therefore  waive  so  nice  a  subject;  and  only 
tell  you  that,  in  recommending  a  Protestant  play  to  a  Protestant  patron, 
as  I  do  myself  an  honor,  so  I  do  your  noble  family  a  right,  who  have 
been  always  eminent  in  the  support  and  favor  of  our  religion  and 
liberties.  And  if  the  promises  of  your  youth,  your  education  at  home, 
and  your  experience  abroad,  deceive  me  not,  the  principles  you  have 
embrac'd  are  such  as  will  no  way  degenerate  from  your  ancestors,  but 
refresh  their  memory  in  the  minds  of  all  true  Englishmen,  and  renew 
their  luster  in  your  person;  which,  my  Lord,  is  not  more  the  wish  than 

30  it  is  the  constant  expectation  of  your  Lordship 's 

Most  obedient, 

Faithful  servant, 

John  Dryden. 

9.     of  'em]   QIF.     of  them  Q2Q3Q4. 


PROLOGUE 

Now,  luck  for  us,  and  a  kind  hearty  pit; 

For  he,  who  pleases,  never  fails  of  wit: 

Honor  is  yours; 

And  you,  like  kings,  at  city-treats  bestow  it; 

The  writer  kneels,  and  is  bid  rise  a  poet ; 

But  you  are  fickle  sovereigns,  to  our  sorrow; 

You  dub  to-day,  and  hang  a  man  to-morrow: 

You  cry  the  same  sense  up,  and  down  again. 

Just  like  brass  money  once  a  year  in  Spain : 
10      Take  you  i'  th'  mood,  whate'er  base  metal  come, 

You  coin  as  fast  as  groats  at  Bromingam: 

Tho'  'tis  no  more  like  sense,  in  ancient  plays, 

Than  Eome's  religion  like  St.  Peter's  days. 

In  short,  so  swift  your  judgments  turn  and  wind. 

You  cast  our  fleetest  wits  a  mile  behind. 

"Twere  well  your  judgments  but  in  plays  did  range, 

But  ev'n  your  follies  and  debauches  change 

With  such  a  whirl,  the  poets  of  your  age 

Are  tir'd,  and  cannot  score  'em  on  the  stage; 
23       Unless  each  vice  in  shorthand  they  indite, 

Ev'n  as  notch'd  prentices  whole  sermons  write. 

The  heavy  Hollanders  no  vices  know, 

But  what  they  us'd  a  hundred  years  ago ; 

Like  honest  plants,  where  they  were  stuck,  they  grow 

They  ciieat,  but  still  from  cheating  sires  they  come; 

They  drink,  but  they  were  christen'd  first  in  mum. 

Their  patrimonial  sloth  the  Spaniards  keep. 

And  Philip  first  taught  Philip  how  to  sleep. 

The  French  and  we  still  change;  but  here's  the  curse, 
30      They  change  for  better,  and  we  change  for  worse; 

They  take  up  our  old  trade  of  conquering. 

And  we  are  taking  theirs,  to  dance  and  sing: 

Our  fathers  did  for  change  to  France  repair. 

And  they  for  change  will  try  our  English  air. 

As  children,  when  they  throw  one  toy  away, 

Straight  a  more  foolish  gewgaw  comes  in  play: 

So  we,  grown  penitent,  on  serious  thinking, 

Leave  whoring,  and  devoutly  fall  to  drinking. 

17.     ev'n]   QIF.     e'en  Q2Q.3Q4.      Similar  variants  occur  lator,   but  are  not 
recorded  in  tlu'se  notes. 

20.     inditt]    QqF.      indict   SsM. 

3U 


} 


312  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

Scouring  the  watch  grows  out-of -fashion  wit: 
40      Not  we  set  up  for  tilting  in  the  pit, 

Where  'tis  agreed  by  bullies,  chicken-hearted, 
To  fright  the  ladies  first,  and  then  be  parted. 
A  fair  attempt  has  twice  or  thrice  been  made. 
To  hire  night-murth'rers,  and  make  death  a  trade. 
When  murther's  out,  what  vice  can  we  advance? 
Unless  the  new-found  pois'ning  trick  of  France: 
And,  when  their  art  of  ratsbane  we  have  got, 
By  way  of  thanks,  we  '11  send   'em  o  'er  our  Plot. 


THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

Leonora,  Queen  of  Aragon. 
Teresa,  Woman  to  Leonora. 
Elvira,  Wife  to  Gomez. 

torrismond. 

Bertran. 

Alphonso. 

Lorenzo,  Ms  Son. 

Raymond. 

Pedro. 

Gomez. 

Dominic,  the  Spanish  Friar. 

[SCENE— ^Sara^'ossa.] 


[Scene,  etc.]   Not  iu  QqF  SsM.    Cf.  p.  324,  1.  371. 


THE 

SPANISH  FEIAR 

OR 

THE  DOUBLE  DISCOVERY 
ACT  I 

Alphonso,  Pedro  meet,  with  Soldiers  on  each  side,  Drums,  ^c. 

Alph.     Stand:  give  the  word. 

Fed.  The   Queen    of   Aragon. 

Alph.     Pedro? — how  goes  the  night? 

Fed.  She  wears  apace. 

Alph.     Then  welcome  daylight;  we  shall  have  warm  work  on  't. 
The  Moor  will  'gage 
His  utmost  forces  on  this  next  assault, 
To  win  a  queen  and  kingdom. 

Fed.     Pox  o'  this  lion  way  of  wooing,  tho'. 
Is  the  queen  stirring  yet? 

Alph.     She  has  not  been  abed,  but  in  her  chapel 
10  All  night  devoutly  watch'd,  and  brib'd  the  saints 
With  vows  for  her  deliverance. 

Fed.  0,  Alphonso, 

I  fear  they  come  too  late!     Her  father's  crimes 
Sit  heavy  on  her,  and  weigh  down  her  prayers. 
A  crown  usurp'd;   a  lawful  king  depos'd, 
In  bondage  held,  debarr'd  the  common  light ; 
His  children  murther'd,  and  his  friends  destroy'd, — • 
What  can  we  less  expect  then  what  we  feel, 
And  what  we  fear  will  follow? 

Alph.  Heav'n  avert  it! 

Fed.     Then  heav'n  must  not  be  heav'n.     Judge  the  event 
20  By  what  has  pass'd.     Th'  usurper  joy'd  not  long 
His  ill-got  crown! — 'Tis  true,  he  died   in   peace, — 
Unriddle  that,  ye  pow'rs! — but  left  his  daughter, 
Our  present  queen,  ingag'd,  upon  his  deathbed, 


[ALPnnxso,  Pedro]   QhF.     SsM   insert   o»u/. 

17.  thru]  Ql.  tliini  (Jli(J.'5Q4F.  Tlic  mxmo  variation  occurs  often  later, 
but  Is  left  unrecorded  in  these  notes.  Tho  spelling  then  is  almost  confined 
to  Ql. 

315 


316  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

To  marry  with  young  Bertran,  whose  curst  father 
Had  help'd  to  make  him  great. 
Hence,  you  well  know,  this  fatal  war  arose; 
Because  the  Moor  Abdalla,  with  whose  troops 
Th'  usurper  gain'd  the  kingdom,  was  refus'd; 
And,  as  an  infidel,  his  love  despis'd. 
30        Alph.     Well,  we  are  soldiers,  Pedro;  and,  like  lawyers, 
Plead  for  our  pay. 

Fed.  A  good  cause  would  do  well  tho ' : 

It  gives  my  sword  an  edge.     You  see  this  Bertrau 
Has  now  throe  times  been  beaten  by  the  Moors: 
What  hope  we  have,  is  in  young  Torrismond, 
Your  brother's  son. 

Alph.  He's  a  successful  warrior, 

And  has  the  soldiers'  hearts;  upon  the  skirts 
Of  Aragon  our  squander  'd  troops  he  rallies. 
Our  watchmen,  from  the  tow'rs,  with  longing  eyes 
Expect  his  swift  arrival. 
40        Ped.     It  must  be  swift,  or  it  will  come  too  late. 

Alph.     No  more. Duke  Bertran. 

Enter  Bertran  attended. 

Bert.     Relieve  the  sentries  that  have  wateh'd  all  night. 
[To  Ped.]    Now,  colonel,  have  you  dispos'd  your  men. 
That  you  stand  idle  here? 

Ped.  Mine  are  drawn  off. 

To  take  a  short  repose. 

Bert.  Short  let  it  be: 

For,  from  the  Moorish  camp,  this  hour  and  more, 
There  has  been  heard  a  distant  humming  noise, 
Like  bees  disturb'd  and  arming  in  their  hives. 
What  courage  in  our  soldiers?     Speak!     What  hope? 
50        Ped.     As  much  as  when  physicians  shake  their  heads, 
And  bid  their  dying  patient  think  of  heav'n. 
Our  walls  are  thinly  mann'd;  our  best  men  slain; 
The  rest,  an  heartless  number,  spent  with  watching. 
And  harass'd  out  with  duty. 

Bert.  Good  night  all,  then. 

Ped.     Nay,  for  my  part,  'tis  but  a  single  life 
I  have  to  lose.     I'll  plant  my  colors  down 
In  the  mid-breach,  and  by  'em  fix  my  foot; 
Say  a  short  soldier's  pray'r,  to  spare  the  trouble 
Of  my  few  friends  above;  and  then  expect 
60  The  next  fair  bullet. 

Alph.     Never  was  known  a  night  of  such  distraction : 
Noise  so  confus'd  and  dreadful;  justling  crowds. 
That  run,  and  know  not  whither;   torches  gliding, 

57.     mid-breach]    Q1Q2F.     vud-hrancli   Q3Q4. 


ACT  I  317 

Like  meteors,  by  each  other  in  the  streets. 

Ped.     I  met  a  reverend,  fat,  old  gouty  friar, 
With  a  paunch  swoln  so  high,  his  double  chin 
Might  rest  upon  't;  a  true  son  of  the  Church; 
Fresh-color'd,  and  well  thrives  on  his  trade. 
Come  putEng  with  his  greasy  baldpate  choir, 
70  And  fumbling  o'er  his  beads  in  such  an  agony. 
He  told  'em  false,  for  fear.     About  his  neck 
There  hung  a  wench,  the  label  of  his  function, 
Whom  he  shook  off,  i'  faith,  methought,  unkindly. 
It  seems  the  holy  stallion  durst  not  score 
Another  sin  before  he  left  the  world. 

Enter  a  Captain. 

Capt.     To  arms,  my  lord,  to  arms! 
From  the  Moors'  camp  the  noise  grows  louder  still: 
Rattling  of  armor,  trumpets,  drums,  and  atabals; 
And  sometimes  peals  of  shouts  that  rend  the  heav'ns, 
80  Like  victory:  then  groans  again,  and  bowlings, 
Like  those  of  vanquish'd  men;  but  every  echo 
Goes  fainter  off,  and  dies  in  distant  sounds. 

Bert.     Some  false  attack:  expect  en  t'  other  side. 
One  to  the  gunners  on  St.  Jago's  tow'r;  bid  'cm,  for  shame, 
Level  their  cannon  lower.     On  my  soul. 
They're  all  corrupted  with  the  gold  of  Barbary, 
To  carry  over,  and  not  hurt  the  Moor. 

Enter  second  Captain. 

2  Capt.     My  lord,  here's  fresh  intelligence  arriv'd. 
Our  army,  led  by  valiant  Torrismond, 
90  Is  now  in  hot  engagement  with  the  Moors; 
'Tis  said,  within  their  trenches. 

Bert.     I  think  all  fortune  is  rcserv'd  for  him!  — 
He  might  have  sent  us  word,  tho'; 
And  then  we  could  have  favor'd  his  attempt 
With  sallies  from  the  town. — 

Alph.  It  could  not  be: 

We  were  so  close  block'd  up,  that  none  could  peep 
Upon  the  walls  and  live.     But  yet   'tis  time:  — 

Bert.     No,  'tis  too  late;   I  will  not  hazard  it: 
On  pain  of  death,  let  no  man  dare  to  sally. 
100         Ped.  [Aside.]     O  envy,  envy,  how  it  works  within  him! 
How  now?  what  moans  this  show? 

Alph.  'Tis  a  procession. 

The  queen  is  going  to  the  great  cathedral. 
To  pray  for  our  success  against  the  Moors. 

Ped.     Very  good:  she  usurps  the  throne,  keeps. the  old  king  in  prison, 


G7.     iipott't]    QqF.     upon   it   SsM, 


no 


318  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

and  at  the  same  time  is  praying  for  a  blessing.     O  religion  and  roguery, 
how  they  go  together! 

A  Procession  of  Priests  and  Choristers  in  white,  with  tapers,  followed  iy 
the  Queen  arid  ladies,  goes  over  the  Stage:  the  Choristers  singing. 

Look  down,  ye  blest  above,  look  down. 

Behold  our  weeping  matrons'  tears. 

Behold  our  tender  virgins'  fears. 
And  with  success  our  armies  crown. 

Look  down,  ye  blest  above,  look  down: 

0,  save  us,  save  us,  and  our  state  restore! 
For  pity,  pity,  pity,  we  implore: 

For  pity,  pity,  pity,  we  implore. 

[The  Procession  goes  off;  and  shout  within.     Then 
Enter  Lorenzo,  who  kneels  to  Alphonso. 

Bert.   [To  Alph.]    A  joyful  cry;  and  see  your  son  Lorenzo. 
Good  news,  kind  heav'n! 

Alph.  [To  Lor.]    O  welcome,  welcome!    is  the  general  safe? 
How  near  our  army?     When  shall  we  be  succor'd? 
Or,  are  we  succor'd?     Are  the  Moors  remov'd? 
120  Answer  these  questions  first,  and  then  a  thousand  more; 
Answer  'em  all  together. 

Lor.     Yes,  when  I  have  a  thousand  tongues,  I  will. 
The  general's  well;  his  army  too  is  safe, 
As  victory  can  make  'em.     The  Moors'  king 
Is  safe  enough,  I  warrant  him,  for  one. 
At  dawn  of  day  our  general  cleft  his  pate. 
Spite  of  his  woolen  nightcap:  a  slight  wound; 
Perhaps  he  may  recover. 

Alph.  Thou   reviv'st  me. 

Ped.     By   my   computation   now,   the   victory   was   gain'd   before   the 
130  procession  was  made  for  it;  and  yet  it  will  go  hard  but  the  priests  will 
make  a  miracle  on  't. 

Lor.     Yes,  faith;  we  came  like  bold  intruding  guests, 
And  took  'em  unprepar'd  to  give  us  welcome. 
Their  scouts  we  kill'd,  then  found  their  body  sleeping; 
And  as  they  lay  confus'd,  we  stumbled  o'er  'em. 
And  took  what  joint  came  next,  arms,  heads,  or  legs, 
Somewhat  undecently.     But  when  men  want  light. 
They  make  but  bungling  work. 

Bert.  I  '11  to  the  queen, 

And  bear  the  news. 

Fed.  That's  young  Lorenzo's  duty. 

140        Bert.     I'll  spare  his  trouble. 

This  Torrismond  begins  to  grow  too  fast; 
[Aside.]   He  must  be  mine,  or  ruin'd. 


ACT  I  319 

Lor.  Pedro,    a    word: — [TFTiwper.] 

^Exit  Bertban. 

Alph.     How  swift  he  shot  away!     I  find  it  stung  him, 
In  spite  of  his  dissembling. 
[To  Lor.]    How  many  of  the  enemy  are  slain? 

Lor.     Troth,  sir,  we  were  in  haste,  and  could  not  stay 
To  score  the  men  we  kill'd;  but  there  they  lie: 
Best  send  our  women  out  to  take  the  tale; 

There's  circumcision  in  abundance  for  'em.  [Turns  to  Pedro  again. 

150        Alph.     How  far  did  you  pursue  "em? 

Zior.  Some  few  miles. 

[To  Ped.]    Good  store  of  harlots,  say  you,  and  dog-cheap? 

Pedro,  they  must  be  had,  and  speedily; 

I've  kept  a  tedious  fast.  [Whisper  again. 

Alph.     When  will  he  make  his  entry?     He  deserves 
Such  triumphs  as  were  giv'n  by  ancient  Kome : 
Ha,  boy,  what  say'st  thou? 

Lor.     As  you  say,  sir,  that  Rome  was  very  ancient. 

[To  Ped.]    I  leave  the  choice  to  you;  fair,  black,  tall,  low, 
Let  her  but  have  a  nose, — and  you  may  tell  her, 
160  I'm  rich  in  jewels,  rings,  and  bobbing  pearls, 
Pluck'd  from  Moors'  ears.        Alph.     Lorenzo. 

Lor.  Somewhat  busy 

About  affairs  relating  to  the  public. 

[To  Ped.]  A  seasonable  girl,  just  in  the  nick  now. 

[Trumpets  within. 

Fed.     I  hear  the  general's  trumpets.     Stand  and  mark 
How  he  will  be  receiv'd;  I  fear,  but  coldly. 
There  hung  a  cloud,  methought,  on  Bertran's  brow. 

Lor.  Then  look  to  see  a  storm  on  Torrismond's; 
Looks  fright  not  men.  The  general  has  seen  Moors 
With  as  bad  faces;  no  dispraise  to  Bertran's.  • 

Ped.     'Twas  rumor'd  in  the  camp,  he  loves  the  queen, 
170        Lor.     He  drinks  her  health  devoutly. 

Alph.  That  may  breed 

Bad  blood    'twixt  him  and  Bertran. 

Fed.  Yes,  in  private. 

But  Bertran  has  been  taught  the  arts  of  court. 
To  gild  a  face  with  smiles,  and  leer  a  man  to  ruin. 
O,  here  they  come. 

Enter  Toebismond  and  Officers  on  one  side,  Bertran  attended  on  the 
other;  they  embrace,  Bertran  bowing  low. 

Just  as  I  prophesied. 

Lor.     Death  and  hell,  he  laughs  at  him! — in  's  face  too. 


153.  I've]    Q1P\      /   have  Q2Q3Q4. 

160.  I'm]  QqF.     I  am  SsM. 

164.  trumpets]  QqF.      trumpet  SsM. 

172.  'twiJdt]   QqF.      betwixt  SsM. 

176.  in  '8]  QqF.     in  hia  SsM. 


320  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

Fed.     O,  you  mistake  him;  'twas  an  humble  grin, 
The  fawning  joy  of  courtiers  and  of  dogs. 

Lor.   [Aside.]    Here  ai-e  nothing  but  lies  to  be  expected:   I'll  e'en  go 
180  lose  myself  in  some  blind  alley,  and  try  if  any  courteous  damsel   will 
think  me  worth  the  finding.  [Exit. 

Alph.     Now  he  begins  to  open. 

Bert.     Your  country  rescued,  and  your  queen  reliev'd, — 
A  glorious  conquest,  noble  Torrismond ! 
The  people  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause, 
And  heav'n  can  hear  no  other  name  but  yours. 
The  thronging  crowds  press  on  you  as  you  pass. 
And  with  their  eager  joy  make  triumph  slow. 
Torr.     My  lord,  I  have  no  taste 
190  Of  popular  applause;  the  noisy  praise 
Of  giddy  crowds,  as  changeable  as  winds; 
Still  vehement,  and  still  without  a  cause; 
Servants  to  chance,  and  blowing  in  the  tide 
Of  swoln  success, — but,  veering  with  its  ebb. 
It  leaves  the  channel  dry. 

Bert.  So  young  a  stoic! 

Torr.     You  wrong  me,  if  you  think  I'll  sell  one  drop 
Within  these  veins  for  pageants;  but,  let  honor 
Call  for  my  blood,  and  sluice  it  into  streams: 
Turn  Fortune  loose  again  to  my  pursuit, 
200  And  let  me  hunt  her  thro'  embattled  foes. 
In  dusty  plains,  amidst  the  cannons'  roar. 
There  will  I  be  the  first. 

Bert.  I'll  try  him  farther. [Aside. 

Suppose  .th '  assembled  states  of  Aragon 

Decree  a  statue  to  you,  thus  inscrib'd: 

"To  Torrismond,  who  freed  his  native  land." 

Alph.  [To  Fed.]    Mark  how  he  sounds  and  fathoms  him,  to  find 
The  shallows  of' his  soul! 

Bert.  The  just  applause 

Of  godlike  senates  is  tlie  stamp  of  virtue, 
Which  makes  it  pass  unquestion'd  thro'  the  world. 
210  These  honors  you  deserve;   nor  shall  my  suffrage 
Be  last  to  fix  'em  on  you.     If  refus'd. 
You  brand  us  all  with  black  ingratitude: 
For  times  to  come  shall  say:    "Our  Spain,  like  Rome, 
Neglects  her  champions  after  noble  acts, 
And  lets  their  laurels  wither  on  their  heads." 

Torr.     A  statue,  for  a  battle  blindly  fought. 
Where  darkness  and  surprise  made  conquest  cheap! 
Where  virtue  borrow'd  but  the  arms  of  chance. 


193.     Servants]  QqF.     Servant  SsM. 

206,    207.     Mark     .     .     .     soul]     so    arranged    in    QqF,       SsM    injure    the 
meter  by  putting  to  find  at  the  beginning  of  line  207. 
217-     vi(f(le]   QqF.     make  SsM. 


ACT  I  321 


And  struck  a  random  blow!     'Twas  fortune's  work, 
220  And  fortune  take  the  praise! 

Bert,  Yet  happiness 

Is  the  first  fame.     Virtue  without  success 
Is  a  fair  picture  shown  by  an  ill  light; 
But  lucky  men  are  favorites  of  heaven : 
And  whom  should  kings  esteem  above  heaven's  darlings? 
The  praises  of  a  young  and  beauteous  queen 
Shall  crown  your  glorious  acts. 

Fed.  [To  Alph.]  There  sprung  the  mine. 

Torr.     The  queen !   that  were  a  happiness  too  great ! 
Nam'd  you  the  queen,  my  lord? 

Bert.     Yes:  you  have  seen  her,  and  you  must  confess, 
230  A  praise,  a  smile,  a  look  from  her  is  worth 
The  shouts  of  thousand  amphitheaters. 
She,  she  shall  praise  you,  for  I  can  oblige  her: 
To-morrow  will  deliver  all  her  charms 
Into  my  arms,  and  make  her  mine  for  ever. 
Why  stand  you  mute? 

Torr.  Alas!    I  cannot  speak. 

Bert.     Not  speak,  my  lord!     How  were  your  thoughts  employ'd? 
Torr.     Nor  can  I  think,  or  I  am  lost  in  thought. 
Bert.     Thought  of  the  queen,  perhaps? 

Torr.  Why,  if  it  were, 

Heav'n  may  be  thought  on,  tho'  too  high  to  climb. 
240        Bert.     O,  now  I  find  where  your  ambition  drives! 
You  ought  not  think  of  her. 

Torr.  So  I  say  too, 

I  ought  not ;  madmen  ought  not  to  be  mad ; 
But  who  can  help  his  frenzy? 

Bert.  Fond   young   man! 

The  wings  of  your  ambition  must  be  clipp'd. 
Your  shamefac'd  virtue  shunn'd  the  people's  praise. 
And  senate's  honors:   but  'tis  well  we  know 
"What  price  you  hold  yourself  at.     You  have  fought 
With  some  success,  and  that  has  seal'd  your  pardon. 
Torr.     Pardon  from  thee!  O,  give  me  patience,  heav'n! 
250  Thrice-vanquish'd  Bertran,  if  thou  dar'st,  look  out 
Upon  yon  slaughter  'd  host,  that  field  of  blood ; 
There  seal  my  pardon,  where  thy  fame  was  lost. 
Fed.     He's  ruin 'd,  past  redemption! 
Alph.  [To  Torr.]  Learn  respect 

To  the  first  prince  o'  th'  blood. 

.    Bert.  0,  let   him  rave! 

I'll  not  contend  with  madmen. 


222.  ghnun]    QIF.     Hhcim  Q2Q3Q4. 

241.  not   think]    QqF.      not  to  think   SsM. 

243.  his]    QIF.      their  Q2Q3Q4. 

254.  0'   th'   blood]    QqF,     of  the  Hood   SsM, 


322  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

Ton.  I  have  clone: 

I  know,  'twas  madness  to  declare  this  truth: 
And  yet,  'twere  baseness  to  deny  my  love. 
'Tis  true,  my  hopes  are  vanishing  as  clouds; 
Lighter  then  children's  bubbles  blown  by  winds: 
260  My  merit's  but  the  rash  results  of  chance; 
My  birth  unequal;  all  the  stars  against  me: 
Pow'r,  promise,  choice,  the  living  and  the  dead; 
Mankind  my  foes;  and  only  love  to  friend: 
But  such  a  love,  kept  at  such  awful  distance, 
As,  what  it  loudly  dares  to  tell,  a  rival 
Shall  fear  to  whisper  there.     Queens  may  be  lov'd, 
And  so  may  gods;  else  why  are  altars  rais'd? 
Why  shines  the  sun,  but  that  he  may  be  view'd? 
But,  O!  when  he's  too  bright,  if  then  we  gaze, 
270  'Tis  but  to  weep,  and  close  our  eyes  in  darkness.  {Exit. 

Bert.      'Tis  well ;  the  goddess  shall  be  told,  she  shall. 
Of  her  new  worshiper.  [Exit, 

Fed.  So,  here  's  fine  work ! 

He  has  supplied  his  only  foe  with  arms 
For  his  destruction.     Old  Penelope's  tale 
Inverted;  h'  has  unravel'd  all  by  day 
That  he  has  done  by  night. — What,  planet-struck! 

Alpli.     I  wish   I  were;  to  be  past  sense  of  this! 

Fed.     Would  I  had  but  a  lease  of  life  so  long. 
As  till  my  flesh  and  blood  rebell'd  this  way, 
280  Against  our  sovereign  lady:   mad  for  a  queen? 

With  a  globe  in  one  hand,  and  a  scepter  in  t'  other? 
A  very  pretty  moppet ! 

Alph.     Then  to  declare  his  madness  to  his  rival! 
His  father  absent  on  an  embassy; 
Himself  a  stranger  almost;   wholly  friendless! 
A  torrent,  rolling  down  a  precipice, 
Is  easier  to  be  stopp'd,  then  is  his  ruin. 

Fed.     'Tis  fruitless  to  complain;  haste  to  the  court; 
Improve  your  interest  there  for  pardon  from  the  queen. 
290        Alph.     Weak  remedies;  but  all  must  be  attempted.  [Exit. 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Lor.  AYell,  I  am  the  most  unlucky  rogue!  I  have  been  ranging  over 
half  the  town,  but  have  sprung  no  game.  Our  women  are  worse  infidels 
then   the    Moors:    I    told    'em    I    was   one   of   their    knight-errants    that 


2.56.     't  nas]    QIF.     't   uerc  Q2Q3Q4. 

260.     refiHlts]    QqF.      result    SsM. 

265.  tell,  a  rivul]  Qq  (no  punctuation  after  rival),  tell,  a  rival,  F. 
tell  a  rival,  SsM. 

275.      h'  has]    QqF.     he   has  SsM. 

[Enter  Lorenzo]  SsM  here  mark  Scene  II,  without  warrant  from  QqF. 
The  place  represented   remains   unchanged. 

289.     there]  QIF.     Omitted  by  Q2Q3Q4. 

293.     of  their]    Qq.     of  the  FSsM. 


ACT  I  323 

deliver'd  them   from  ravishment;   and   I  think  in  my  conscience  that's 
their  quarrel  to  me. 

Fed.  Is  this  a  time  for  fooling?  Your  cousin  is  run  honorably  mad 
in  love  with  her  majesty;  he  is  split  upon  a  rock,  and  you,  who  are  in 
chase  of  harlots,  are  sinking  in  the  main  ocean.  I  think,  the  devil's  in 
the  family.  [Exit. 

300  Lor.  [Solus.]  My  cousin  ruin'd,  says  he!  hum,  not  that  I  wish  my 
kinsman's  ruin;  that  were  unchristian:  but,  if  the  general's  ruin'd,  I  am 
heir;  there's  comfort  for  a  Christian!  Money  I  have;  I  thank  the 
honest  Moors  for  't ;  but  I  want  a  mistress.  I  am  willing  to  be  lewd; 
but  the  tempter  is  wanting  on  his  part. 

Enter  Elvira  vcil'd. 

Eh.  Stranger!  Cavalier! — will  you  not  hear  me?  you  Moor-killer, 
you  matador! 

Lor.     Meaning  me,  madam? 

Elv.     Face  about,  man!   you  a  soldier,  and  afraid  of  the  enemy! 

Lor.  [ Aside. '\    I  must  confess,  I  did  not  expect  to  have  been  charg'd 
310  fkst:   I  see  souls  will  not  be  lost  for  want  of  diligence  in  this  devil's 
reign.     [To  her.'\    Now,  Madam  Cynthia  behind  a  cloud,  your  will  ami 
pleasure  with  me? 

Elv.  You  have  the  appearance  of  a  cavalier;  and  if  you  are  as 
deserving  as  you  seem,  perhaps  you  may  not  repent  of  your  adventure. 
If  a  lady  like  you  well  enough  to  hold  discourse  with  you  at  first  sight, 
you  are  gentleman  enough,  I  hope,  to  help  her  out  with  an  apology,  and 
to  lay  the  blame  on  stars,  or  destiny,  or  what  you  please,  to  excuse  the 
frailty  of  a  woman? 

Lor.     O,  I  love  an  easy  woman!   there's  such  ado,  to  crack  a  thick- 
320  shell'd  mistress;  we  break  our  teeth,  and  find  no  kernel.     'Tis  generous  in 
you,  to  take  pity  on  a  stranger,  and  not  to  suffer  him  to  fall  into  ill 
hands  at  his  first  arrival. 

Elv.  You  may  have  a  better  opinion  of  me  then  I  deserve ;  you  have 
not  seen  me  yet ;  and,  therefore,  I  am  confident  you  are  heart-whole. 

Lor.  Not  absolutely  slain,  I  must  confess;  but  I  am  drawing  on 
apace:  you  have  a  dangerous  tongue  in  your  head,  I  can  tell  you  that; 
and  if  your  eyes  prove  of  as  killing  metal,  there's  but  one  way  with  me. 
Let  me  sec  you,  for  the  safeguard  of  my  honor;  'tis  but  decent  the 
cannon  should  be  drawn  down  upon  me  before  I  yield. 
330  Elv.  What  a  terrible  similitude  have  you  made,  colonel,  to  shew 
that  you  are  inclining  to  the  wars?  I  could  answer  you  with  another  in 
my  profession:  suppose  you  were  in  want  of  money,  would  you  not  be 
glad  to  take  a  sum  upon  content  in  a  seal'd  bag,  without  peeping? — 
but,  however,  I  will  not  stand  with  you  for  a  sample.     [Lifts  up  her  veil. 

Lor.  What  eyes  were  there!  how  keen  their  glances!  you  do  well 
to  keep  'em  veil'd;  they  are  too  sharp  to  be  trusted  out  o'  th'  scabbard. 


204.  that  '8]   QqF.     that  is  SsM. 

301.  general   'e]    QqF.     general  is   SsM. 

303.  for  't]    QqF.     for  it  SsM. 

327.  there  's]   QqF.  there  is   SsM. 

336.  0'  th'  acaibard]   QqF.  of  the  scabbard   SsM. 


324  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

Elv.     Perhaps  now,  you   may  accuse  my  forwardness;   but  this   day 
of  jubilee  is  the  only  time  of  freedoia  I  have  had;  and  there  is  nothing 
so  extravagant  is  a  prisoner,  when  he  gets  loose  a  little,  and  is  imme- 
340  diately  to  return  into  his  fetters. 

Lor.  To  confess  freely  to  you,  madam,  I  was  never  in  love  with  less 
then  your  whole  sex  before;  but  now  I  have  seen  you,  I  am  in  the  direct 
road  of  languishing  and  sighing;  and,  if  love  goes  on  as  it  begins,  for 
aught  -I  know,  by  to-morrow  morning  you  may  hear  of  me  in  rime  and 
sonnet.  I  tell  you  truly,  I  do  not  like  these  symptoms  in  myself.  Per- 
haps I  may  go  shufflingly  at  first ;  for  I  was  never  before  walk'd  in 
trammels;  yet  1  shall  drudge  and  moil  at  constancy,  till  I  have  worn 
off  the  hitching  in  my  pace. 

Elv.     O,  sir,  there  are  arts  to  reclaim  the  wildest  men,  as  there  are 
350  to  make  spaniels  fetch  and  carry:  chide  "em  often,  and  feed  'em  seldom. 
Now  1  know  your  temper,  you  may  thank  yourself,  if  you  are  kept  tu 
hard  meat. — You  arc  in  for  years,  if  you  make  love  to  me. 

Lor.  I  hate  a  formal  obligation  with  an  Anno  Domini  at  end  on  't; 
there  may  be  an  evil  meaning  in  the  word  years,  call'd  matrimony. 

Elv.  I  can  easily  rid  you  of  that  fear:  I  wish  I  could  rid  myself 
as  easily  of  the  bondage. 

Lor.     Then  you  are  married? 

Elv.     If  a  covetous,  and  a  jealous,  and  an  old  man  be  a  husband. 

Lor.     Three  as  good  qualities  for  my  purpose  as  I  could  wish :   nov/ 
aco  love  be  prais'd! 

Enter  Elvira's  Duenna,  and  tvhispers  to  her. 

Elv.  [Aside.]  If  I  get  not  home  before  my  husband,  I  shall  be 
ruin'd.  [To  him.]  1  dare  not  stay  to  tell  you  where.  Farewell! — Could 
I  once  more [Exit. 

Lor.  This  is  unconscionable  dealing;  to  be  made  a  slave,  and  not 
know  whose  livery  1  wear.     Who  have  we  yonder? 

Enter  Gomez,. 

By  that  shambling  in  his  walk,  it  should  be  my  rich  old  banker,  Gomez, 
whom  I  knew  at  Barcelona.  As  I  live,  'tis  he! — [To  Gomez.]  What,  old 
Mammon  here! 

Gom.     How!  young  Beelzebub? 
370         Lor.     What  devil  has  set  his  claws  in  thy  haunches,  and  brought  thee 
hither  to  Saragossa?     Sure  he  meant  a  farther  journey  v>ith  thee. 

Gom.  I  always  remove  before  the  enemy:  when  the  Moors  are  ready 
to  besiege  one  town,  I  shift  quarters  to  the  next;  I  keep  as  far  from 
the  infidels  as  I  can. 

Lor.     That's  but  a  hair's-breadth  at  farthest. 

Gom.  Well,  you  have  got  a  famous  victory;  all  true  subjects  are 
pverjoy'd  at  it.  There  are  bonfires  decreed;  and  the  times  had  not  been 
-hard,  my  billet  should. Jiave  liurat...too...    _ .  

Lor.     I  dare  say  for  thee,  thou  hast  such  a  respect  for  a  single  billet, 

364.     not  hnoic]   QqF.     know  not  SsM. 

377,     8"^  the]    Q1Q2F.     and  if  the  Q3Q4,     an'  the  SsM. 


ACT  I  325 

380  thou  woultlst  almost  have  thrown  on  thyself  to   save  it;   thou  art  for 
saving  everything  but  thy  soul. 

Gom.  Well,  well,  you'll  not  believe  me  generous,  till  I  carry  you  to 
the  tavern,  and  crack  half  a  pint  with  you  at  my  own  charges. 

Lor.  No;  I'll  keep  thee  from  hanging  thyself  for  such  an  extrava- 
gance; and,  instead  of  it,  thou  shalt  do  mc  a  mere  verbal  courtesy.  I 
bavc  just  now  seen  a  most  incomparable  young  lady. 

Gom.  "Whereabouts  did  you  see  this  most  incomparable  young  lady? 
[Aside.]  My  mind  misgives  mc  plaguily. 

Lor.     Here,    man,    just    before    this    corner-house.      Pray    heaven    it 
390  prove  no  bawdyhouse. 

Gom.   [Aside.]   Pray  heaven  he  does  not  make  it  one! 

Lor.  What  dost  thou  mutter  to  thyself?  Hast  thou  anything  to 
say  against  the  honesty  of  that  house? 

Gom.  Not  I,  colonel;  the  walls  are  very  honest  stone,  and  the  timber 
very  honest  wood,  for  aught  I  know;  but  for  the  woman,  I  cannot  say, 
till  I  know  her  better.  Describe  her  person,  and,  if  she  live  in  this 
quarter,  I  may  give  you  tidings  of  her. 

Lor.     She's  of  a  middle  stature,  dark  color'd  hair,  the  most  bewitch- 
ing leer  with  her  eyes,  the  most  roguish  cast!   her  cheeks  are  dimpled 
400  when  she  smiles,  and  her  smiles  would  tempt  an  hermit. 

Gom.  [Aside.]  I  am  dead,  I  am  buried,  I  am  damnM. — -Go  on — 
colonel — have  you  no  other  marks  of  her? 

Lor.  Thou  hast  all  her  marks;  but  that  she  has  an  husband,  a 
jealous,   covetous  old  hunks.     Speak!    canst  thou   tell  me  news  of   her? 

Gom.     Yes;   this  news,  colonel,  that  you  have  seen  your  last  of  her. 

Lor.  If  thou  help'st  me  not  to  the  knowledge  of  her,  thou  art  a 
cireumcis'd  Jew. 

Gom.  Circumcise  me  no  more  then  I  circumcise  you.  Colonel  Her- 
nando. Once  more,  you  have  seen  your  last  of  her. 
410  Lor.  [Aside.]  I  am  glad  he  knows  mc  only  ])y  that  name  of  Hernando, 
by  which  I  went  at  Barcelona ;  now  he  can  tell  no  tales  of  me  to  my 
father. — [To  him.]  Come,  thou  wert  ever  good-natur'd,  when  thou  couldst 
get  by  't.  Look  here,  rogue;  'tis  of  the  right  damning  color:  thou  art 
not  proof  against  gold,  sure! — Do  not  I  know  thee  for  a  covetous 

Gom.  Jealous  old  hunks?  those  were  the  marks  of  your  mistress's 
husband,  as  I  remember,  colonel. 

Lor.  [Aside.]  O,  the  devil!  What  a  rogue  in  understanding  was  I, 
not  to  find  him  out  sooner! 

Gom.     Do,   do,   look   sillily,   good   colonel ;    'tis  a    decent   melancholy 
420  after  an  absolute  defeat. 

Lor.     Faith,  not  for  that,  dear  Gomez ;  but 

Gom.     But — no  pumping,  my  dear  colonel. 

Lor.  Hang  pumping!  I  was — thinking  a  little  upon  a  point  of 
gratitude.     We   two   have   been   long  acquaintance;    I  know   thy  merits, 

40."?.  hut    that   she   has   an   husband]    QqF.      SsM    omit    that    and    read    a 
for  an. 

413.  hii  7]    QqF.      hi/  it   SsM. 

423.  /   was—ihinkhi'(j]    QqF.      SsM  omit  tlir  dash. 


326  THE  SPANISH  FRIAE 

and  can  make  some  interest.  Go  to;  thou  wert  born  to  authority;  I'll 
make  thee  Alcaide,  Mayor  of  Saragossa. 

Gom.  Satisfy  yourself;  you  shall  not  make  me  what  you  think, 
colonel. 

Lor.  Faith,  but  I  will;  thou  hast  the  face  of  a  magistrate  already. 
430  Gom.  And  you  would  provide  me  with  a  magistrate's  head  to  my 
magistrate's  face;  I  thank  you,  colonel. 

Lor.  Come,  thou  art  so  suspicious  upon  an  idle  story! — That  woman 
I  saw,  I  mean  that  little,  crooked,  ugly  woman,  for  t'  other  was  a  lie, — 
is  no  more  thy  wife, — as  I  '11  go  home  with  thee  and  satisfy  thee  imme- 
diately, my  dear  friend. 

Gom.  I  shall  not  put  you  to  that  trouble;  no,  not  so  much  as  a 
single  visit;  not  so  much  as  an  embassy  by  a  civil  old  woman,  nor  a 
serenade  of  twinkledum  twirikledum  under  my  windows;  nay,  I  will 
advise  you,  out  of  my  tenderness  to  your  person,  that  you  walk  not  near 
440  yon  corner-house  by  night ;  for,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  there  are 
blunderbusses  planted  in  every  loophole,  that  go  off  constantly  of  their 
own  accord,  at  the  squeaking  of  a  fiddle,  and  the  thrumming  of  a 
guitar. 

Lor.  Art  thou  so  obstinate?  Then  I  denounce  open  war  against 
thee;  Fll  demolish  thy  citadel  by  force;  or,  at  least,  I'll  bring  my  whole 
regiment  upon  thee;  my  thousand  red  locusts,  that  shall  devour  thee  in 
free  quarter. — Farewell,  wrought  nightcap,  [Exit. 

Gom.  Farewell,  Buff.  Free  quarter  for  a  regiment  of  red-coat 
locusts?  I  hope  to  see  'em  all  in  the  Red  Sea  first! — But  O,  this 
450  Jezebel  of  mine!  I'll  get  a  physician  that  shall  prescribe  her  an  ounce 
of  camphire  every  morning,  for  her  breakfast,  to  abate  incontinency. 
She  shall  never  peep  abroad,  no,  not  to  church  for  confession ;  and,  for 
never  going,  she  shall  be  condemn'd  for  a  heretic.  She  shall  have  stripes 
by  Troy  weight,  and  sustenance  by  drachms  and  scruples:  nay,  I'll  have 
a  fasting  almanac  printed  on  purpose  for  her  use,  in  which 

No  Carnival  nor  Christmas  shall  appear, 

But  Lents  and  Ember  weeks  shall  fill  the  year.  [Exit, 


ACT  II 

SCENE  I. — The  Queen's  Antechamber. 

Alphonso,  Pedro. 

Alph.     When  saw  you  my  Lorenzo? 

Fed.     1  had  a  glimpse  of  him ;  but  he  shot  by  me 
Like  a  young  hound  upon  a  burning  scent; 
He's  gone  a-harlot-hunting. 

Alph.     His  foreign  breeding  might  have  taught  him  better. 

Fed.     'Tis  that  has  taught  him  this. 
"What  learn  our  youth  abroad,  but  to  refine 

447,   448.     quarter]    QqF.      quarters   SsM. 


ACT  II,  SCENE  1  327 

The  homely  vices  of  their  native  land? 
Give  me  an  honest  homespun  country  clown 
10  Of  our  own  growth ;  his  dulness  is  but  plain, 
But  theirs  embroider'd ;  they  are  sent  out  fools, 
But  come  back  fops. 

Alph.  You  know  what  reasons  urg'd  me; 

But,  now  I  have  accomplish'd  my  designs, 
I  should  be  glad  he  knew  'em.     His  wild  riots 
Disturb  my  soul;  but  they  would  sit  more  close, 
Did  not  the  threaten'd  downfall  of  our  house. 
In  Torrismond,  o'erwhelm  my  private  ills. 

Enter  Bertran,  attended,  and  whispering  tvith  a  Courtier,  aside. 

Bert.     I  would  not  have  her  think  he  dar'd  to  love  her; 
If  he  presume  to  own  it,  she's  so  proud, 
20  He  tempts  his  certain  ruin. 

Alph.  [To  Ped.]   Mark  how  disdainfully  he  throws  his  eyes  on  us. 
Our  old  imprison'd  king  wore  no  such  looks. 

Ped.     O  would  the  general  shake  off  his  dotage 
To  the  usurping  queen, 
And  reinthrone  good  venerable  Sancho!  . 
I'll  undertake,  should  Bertran  sound  his  trumpets. 
And  Torrismond  but  whistle  thro'  his  fingers. 
He  draws  his  army  off. 

Alph.  I  told  him  so; 

But  had  an  answer  louder  then  a  storm. 
30        Ped.     Now,  plague  and  pox  on  his  smock-loyalty! 
I  hate  to  see  a  brave  bold  fellow  sotted. 
Made  sour  and  senseless,  turn'd  to  whey  by  love; 
A  driveling  hero,  fit  for  a  romance. 
O,  here  he  comes!  what  will  their  greeting  be? 

Enter  Torrismond,  attended:  Bertran  and  he  meet  and  justle. 

Bert.     Make  way,  my  lords,  and  let  the  pageant  pass. 

Tor.     I  make  my  way,  where'er  I  see  my  foe; 
But  you,  my  lord,  are  good  at  a  retreat. 
I  have  no  Moors  behind  me. 

Bert.  Death  and  hell! 

Dare  to  speak  thus  when  you  come  out  again! 
40         Tor.     Dare  to  provoke  me  thus,  insulting  man! 

Enter  Teresa. 

Ter.     My  lords,  you  are  too  loud  so  near  the  queen; 
You,  Torrismond,  have  much  offended  her. 

23.  24.  O  would  .  .  .  qucen\.  Printed  as  one  line  In  QqF ;  perhaps 
the  <llvlsl<)n  should  be  made  after  yencral  instead  of  after  dotage.  QqF  read 
th'  unurpiiif/. 

^4.     (ircitiiKi]    QqF.      (jrcciwijit    SsM. 

39.     Dare,  etc.]    QqF  print  qiiestidii   marks  after   this  line  and  the  next.' 


328  THE  SPANISH  FRIAE 

'Tis  her  command  you  instantly  appear, 
To  answer  your  demeanor  to  the  prince. 

[Exit  Teresa;  Bertran  with  his  company  follow  her. 

Tor.     O  Pedro,  O  Alphonso,  pity  me! 
A  grove  of  pikes. 

Whose  polish'd  steel  from  far  severely  shines. 
Are  not  so  dreadful  as  this  beauteous  queen. 

Alph.     Call  up  your  courage  timely  to  your  aid, 
50  And,  like  a  lion,  press'd  upon  the  toils, 

Leap  on  your  hunters.     Speak  your  actions  boldly; 
There  is  a  time  when  modest  virtue  is 
Allow'd  to  praise  itself. 

Fed.     Heart!  you  were  hot  enough,  too  hot,  but  now; 
Your  fury  then  boil'd  upward  to  a  foam; 
But  since  this  message  came,  you  sink  and  settle. 
As  if  cold  water  had  been  pour'd  upon  you. 

Tor.     Alas!   thou  know'st  not  what  it  is  to  love! 
When  we  behold  an  angel,  not  to  fear 
60  Is  to  be  impudent.— No,  I'm  resolv'd; 
Like  a  led  victim,  to  my  death  I'll  go, 
And,  dying,  bless  the  hand  that  gave  the  blow.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II 

The  Scene  draws,  and  shews  the  Queen  sitting  in  state;  Bertran  stand- 
ing next  her;  then  Teresa,  ^c.    She  rises,  and  comes  to  the  front. 

Qu.  Leonora.  [To  Bert.]  I  blame  not  you,  my  lord;  my  father's  will, 
Your  own  deserts,  and  all  my  people's  voice, 
Have  plac'd  you  in  the  view  of  sovereign  pow'r. 
But  I  would  learn  the  cause,  why  Torrismond, 
Within  my  palace  walls,  within  my  hearing. 
Almost  within  my  sight,  affronts  a  prince 
Who  shortly  shall  command  him. 

Bert.     He  thinks  you  owe  him  more  then  you  can  pay; 
And  looks  as  he  were  lord  of  humankind. 

Enter  Torrismond,  Alphonso,  Pedro.   Torrismond  bows  low,  then  lools 
earnestly  on  the  Queen,  and  keeps  at  distance. 

10        Ter.     Madam,  the  general.- 


Qu.  Let  me  view  him  well. 

My  father  sent  him  early  to  the  frontiers; 
I  have  not  often  seen  him ;  if  I  did. 
He  pass'd  unmark'd  by  my  unheeding  eyes. 


60.     7  'm]   QqF.     I  am  SsM,  to  the  detriment  of  the  meter. 
[Scene  II]  A  new  scene  evidently  begins  at  this  point,  though  SsM  do  not 
indicate  the  fact.     The  early  editions   do  not  number  the   scenes. 


ACT  II,  SCENE  II  329 

But  where 's  the  fierceness,  the  disdainful  pride, 

The  haughty  port,  the  fiery  arrogance? 

By  all  these  marks,  this  is  not,  sure,  the  man. 

Bert.     Yet  this  is  he  who  fill'd  your  court  with  tumult. 
Whose  fierce  demeanor,  and  whose  insolence, 
The  patience  of  a  god  could  not  support. 
20        Qu.     Name  his  offense,  my  lord,  and  he  shall  have 
Immediate  punishment. 

Bert.     'Tis  of  so  high  a  nature,  should  I  speak  it, 
That  my  presumption  then  would  equal  his. 

Qu.     Some  one  among  you  speak. 

Fed.  [Aside.'\  Now  my  tongue  itches. 

Qu.     All  dumb!     On  your  allegiance,  Torrismond, 
By  all  your  hopes,  I  do  command  you,  speak. 

Tor.   [Eneeli7ig.]    0  seek  not  to  convince  me  of  a  crime, 
Which  I  can  ne  'er  repent,  nor  can  you  pardon ; 
Or,  if  you  needs  will  know  it,  think,  O  think, 
30  That  he  who,  thus  commanded,  dares  to  speak. 
Unless  commanded,  would  have  died  in  silence. 
But  you  adjur"d  me,  madam,  by  my  hopes! 
Hopes  I  have  none,  for  I  am  all  despair; 
Friends  I  have  none,  for  friendship  follows  favor; 
Desert  I've  none,  for  what  I  did  was  duty: 
O  that  it  were! — that  it  were  duty  all! 

Qu.     Why  do  you  pause?     Proceed. 

Tor.     As  one,  condemn'd  to  leap  a  precipice. 
Who  sees  before  his  eyes  the  depth  below, 
40  Stops  short,  and  looks  about  for  some  kind  shrub 

To  break  his  dreadful  fall, — so  I 

But  whither  am  I  going?    If  to  death. 
He  looks  so  lovely  sweet  in  beauty's  pomp, 
He  draws  me  to  his  dart. 1  dare  no  more. 

Bert.     He  "s  mad,  beyond  the  cure  of  hellebore. 
Whips,  darkness,  dungeons,  for  this  insolence. 

Tor.     Mad  as  I  am,  yet  I  know  when  to  bear. 

Qu.     You   're  both  too  bold.     You,  Torrismond,  withdraw. 
I'll  teach  you  all  what  's  owing  to  your  queen. — 
50  For  you,  my  lord, — 

The  priest  tomorrow  was  to  join  our  hands; 
I'll  try  if  I  can  live  a  day  without  you. 
So,  both  of  you  depart,  and  live  in  peace. 

Alph.  Who  knows  which  way  she  points? 
Doubling  and  turning,  like  an  hunted  hare; — 
Find  out  the  meaning  of  her  mind  who  can. 

Fed.  Who  ever  found  a  woman's?  back\'\ard  and  forward,  the  whole 
sex  in  every  word.  In  my  conscience,  when  she  was  getting,  her  mother 
was  thinking  of  a  riddle.  [Exeunt  all  but  the  Queen  and  Teresa. 

43.      bcnutu'K]    QIF.      hcauttous    Q2Q3Q-1. 


330  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

50        Qu.     Haste,  my  Teresa,  haste,  and  call  him  back. 

Ter.    Whom,  madam? 

Qu.  Him. 

Ter.  Prince  Bertran? 

Qu.  Torrismond; 

There  is  no  other  he. 

Ter.    [Aside.]      A  rising  sun. 
Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd.  _[Exit  Teresa. 

Qu.     A  change  so  swift  what  heart  did  ever  feel! 
It  rush'd  upon  me  like  a  mighty  stream, 
And  bore  me,  in  a  moment,  far  from  shore. 
I've  lov'd  away  myself;  in  one  short  hour 
Already  am  I  gone  an  age  of  passion. 
Was  it  his  youth,  his  valor,  or  success? 
70  These  might,  perhaps,  be  found  in  other  men: 
'Twas  that  respect,  that  awful  homage  paid  me, 
That  fearful  love  which  trembled  in  his  eyes 
And  with  a  silent  earthquake  shook  his  soul. 
But,  when  he  spoke,  what  tender  words  he  said! 
So  softly,  that,  like  flakes  of  feather'd  snow, 
They  melted  as  they  fell. 

Enter  Teresa  with  Torrismond. 

Ter.  He  waits  your  pleasure. 

Qu.    'Tis  well;  retire.     [Aside.]     O  heavens,  that  I  must  speak 

So  distant  from  my  heart! 

[To  Tor.]     How  now!     What  boldness  brings  you  back  again? 
80         Tor.     1  heard  'twas  your  command. 

Qu.  A  fond  mistake. 

To  credit  so  unlikely  a  command; 
And  you  return,  full  of  the  same  presumption, 
T'  affront  me  with  your  love! 

Tor.     If  'tis  presumption  for  a  wretch  condemn'd 
To  throw  himself  beneath  his  judge's  feet: 
A  boldness,  more  then  this,  I  never  knew; 
Or,  if  I  did,  'twas  only  to  your  foes. 

Qu.     You  would  insinuate  your  past  services, 
And  those,  I  grant,  were  great;   but  you  confess 
90  A  fault  committed  since  that  cancels  all. 

Tor.     And  who  could  dare  to  disavow  his  crime, 
When  that,  for  which  he  is  accus'd  and  seiz'd. 
He  bears  about  him  still!     My  eyes  confess  it; 
My  every  action  speaks  my  heart  aloud: 
But,  O  the  madness  of  my  high  attempt 
Speaks  louder  yet !  and  all  together  cry, 
I  love  and  I  despair. 

Qu.  Have  you  not  heard, 

94.     every]    Q1Q2Q3F.     very  Q4. 


ACT  II,  SCENE  II  331 

My  father,  with  his  dying  voice,  bequeath'd 
My  crown  and  me  to  Bertran?     And  dare  you, 
100  A  private  man,  presume  to  love  a  queen? 

Tor.     That,  that   's  the  wound!     I  see  you  set  so  high 
As  no  desert  or  services  can  reach. 
Good  heav'ns,  why  gave  you  me  a  monarch's  soul, 
And  crusted  it  with  base  plebeian  clay? 
Why  gave  you  me  desires  of  such  extent, 
And  such  a  span  to  grasp  'em?     Sure,  my  lot 
By  some  o'erhasty  angel  was  misplac'd 

In  fate's  eternal  volume! But  I  rave. 

And,  like  a  giddy  bird  in  dead  of  night, 
110  Fly  around  the  fire  that  scorches  me  to  death. 

Qu.     Yet,  Torrismond,  you  've  not  so  ill  deserv'd, 
But  I  may  give  you  counsel  for  your  cure. 

Tor.    I  cannot,  nay,  I  wish  not  to  be  cur'd. 

Qu.  [Aside.]     Nor  I,  heav'n  knows! 

-.     ^^.^-  There  is  a  pleasure,  sure, 

In  being  mad,  which  none  but  madmen  know! 

Let  me  indulge  it;  let  me  gaze  for  ever! 

And,  since  you  are  too  great  to  be  belov'd, 

Be  greater,  greater  yet;  and  be  ador'd. 

Qu.     These  are  the  words  which  I  must  only  hear 
120  From  Bertran 's  mouth;  they  should  displease  from  you: 

I  say  they  should;   but  women  are  so  vain. 

To  like  the  love,  tho'  they  despise  the  lover. 

Yet,  that  I  may  not  send  you  from  my  sight 

In  absolute  despair — I  pity  you. 

Tor.     Am  I  then  pitied!     I  have  liv'd  enough  I 

Death,  take  me  in  this  moment  of  my  joy; 

But,  when  my  soul  is  plung'd  in  long  oblivion, 

Spare  this  one  thought!   let  me  remember  pity. 

And,  so  deceiv  'd,  think  all  my  life  was  blest.  ' 
130        ^"-     What  if  I  add  a  little  to  my  alms? 

If  that  would  help,  I  could  cast  in  a  tear 

To  your  misfortunes. — 

Tor     A  tear!     You  have  o'erbid  all  my  past  sufferings, 
And  all  my  future  too! 

Q^-                             "Were  I  no  queen — 
Or  you  of  royal  blood 

Tor.     What  have  I  lost  by  my  forefather's  fault! 
Why  was  not  I  the  twentieth  by  descent 
From  a  long  restive  race  of  droning  kings? 
Love!  what  a  poor  omnipotence  hast  thou, 
140  When  gold  and  titles  buy  thee? 

Qu.   [Sighs.]  O,  my  torture! 

Tor.     Might  I  presume,— but  O,  I  dare  not  hope 
That  sigh  was  added  to  your  aims  for  me! 


332  THE  SPANISH  FEIAK 

QiL     I  give  you  leave  to  guess,  and  not  forbid  you 
To  make  the  best  construction  for  your  love: 
Be  secret  and  discreet ;  these  fairy  favors 
Are  lost,  when  not  conceal 'd. — Provoke  not  Bertran. — 
Retire:     I  must  no  more  but  this, — Hope,  Torrismond.  [Exit, 

Tor.     She  bids  me  hope;   O  heav'ns,  she  pities  me! 
And  pity  still  foreruns  approaching  love, 
150  As  lightning  does  the  thunder!     Tune  your  harps, 
Ye  angels,  to  that  sound;  and  thou,  my  heart, 
Make  room  to  entertain  thy  flowing  joy. 

Hence,  all  my  griefs  and  every  anxious  care; 

One  word,  and  one  kind  glance,  can  cure  despair.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III. — A  Chamber.     A  Table  and  Wine  set  out. 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Lor.  This  may  hit;  'tis  more  then  barely  possible;  for  friars  have 
free  admittance  into  every  house.  This  jacobin  whom  I  have  sent  to 
is  her  confessor;  and  who  can  suspect  a  man  of  such  reverence  for  a 
pimp?  I'll  try  for  once;  I'll  bribe  him  high;  for  commonly  none  love 
money  better  then  they  who  have  made  a  vow  of  poverty. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.     There  's  a  huge,  fat,  religious  gentleman  coming  up,  sir.     He 

says  he  's  but  a  friar,  but  he  's  big  enough  to  be  a  pope;  his  gills  are 

as  rosy  as  a  turkey  cock;  his  great  belly  walks  in  state  before  him,  like 

an  harbinger;  and  his  gouty  legs  come  limping  after  it:  never  was  such 

10  a  tun  of  devotion  seen. 

Lar.     Bring  him  in,  and  vanish.  [Exit  Servant 

Enter  Father  Dominic. 

Lor.     Welcome,   father. 

Dom.  Peace  be  here:  I  thought  I  had  been  sent  for  to  a  dying 
man;   to  have  fitted  him  for  another  world. 

Lor.  No,  faith,  father,  I  was  never  for  taking  such  long  journeys. 
Eepose  yourself,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  if  those  spindle  legs  of  yours  will 
carry  you  to  the  next  chair. 

Dom.     I  am  old,  I  am  infirm,  I  must  confess,  with  fasting. 

Lor.     'Tis   a    sign,   by   your   wan   complexion    and   your   thin   jowls, 

20  father.     Come — to  our  better  acquaintance: — here  's  a  sovereign  remedy 

for  old  age  and  sorrow.  [Drinlcs. 

Dom.     The  looks  of  it  are  indeed  alluring:  I'll  do  you  reason. 

[Drinks. 

4.     pimpf]    After  this  word  Q3Q4  insert:   The  Church,  ihcy  say,  is  an  in- 
dulgent mother. 

■   for  once'\  After  these  words  Q3Q4  insert :  how  indulgent  she  will  he  to  a 
carnal  son  of  hers. 


ACT   ir,  8CENE  III  333 

Lor.     Is  it  to  your  palate,  father? 

Dom.  Second  thoughts,  they  say,  are  best:  I'll  consider  of  it  once 
again.  \Drinlcs.]  It  has  a  most  delicious  flavor  with  it.  Gad  forgive 
me,  1  have  forgotten  to  drink  your  health,  son;  I  am  not  us'd  to  be  so 
unmannerly.  [Drinks  a<jain. 

Lor.     No,  I'll  be  sworn,  by  what  I  see  of  you,  you  are  not: To 

the   bottom; — I   warrant   him  a   true   churchman. — Now,   father,   to   our 
30  business:  'tis  agreeable  to  your  calling;  I  intend  to  do  an  act  of  charity. 

Dom.    And  I  love  to  hear  of  charity;  'tis  a  comfortable  subject. 

Lor.  Being  in  the  late  battle,  in  great  hazard  of  my  life,  I  recom- 
mended my  person  to  good  Saint  Dominic. 

Dom.  You  could  not  have  pitch 'd  upon  a  better;  he  's  a  sure  card; 
I  never  knew  him  fail  his  votaries. 

Lor.  Troth,  1  e'en  made  bold  to  strike  up  a  bargain  with  him,  that 
if  I  scap'd  with  life  and  plunder,  I  would  present  some  brother  of  his 
order  with  part  of  the  booty  taken  from  the  infidels,  to  be  employ'd  in 
charitable  uses. 
40  Dom.  There  you  hit  him;  Saint  Dominic  loves  charity  exceedingly; 
that  argument  never  fails  with  him. 

Lor.  The  spoils  were  mighty;  and  I  scorn  to  wrong  him  of  a 
farthing.  To  make  short  my  story;  I  enquir'd  among  the  jacobins  for 
an  almoner,  and  the  general  fame  has  pointed  out  your  reverence  as 
the  worthiest  man: — here  are  fifty  good  pieces  in  this  purse. 

Dom.     How,  fifty  pieces?  'tis  too  much,  too  much,  in  conscience. 

Lor.     Here,  take  'em,  father. 

Dom.     No,  in  troth,  I  dare  not;  do  not  tempt  me  to  break  my  vow  of 
poverty. 
50        Lor.    If  you  are  modest,  I  must  force  you ;  for  I  am  strongest. 

Dom.  Nay,  if  you  compel  me,  there  's  no  contending;  but  will  you 
set  your  strength  against  a  decrepit,  poor,  old  man?  [Takes  the  Purse.] 
As  I  said,  'tis  too  great  a  bounty;  but  Saint  Dominic  shall  owe  you 
another  scape:   I'll  put  him  in  mind  of  you. 

Lor.  If  you  please,  father,  we  will  not  trouble  him  till  the  next 
battle.  But  you  may  do  me  a  greater  kinr'ness,  by  conveying  my  prayers 
to  a  female  saint. 

Dom.    A  female  saint!  good  now,  good  now,  how  your  devotions  jump 
with  mine!     I  always  lov'd  the  female  saints, 
6'         Lor.     I  mean,  a  female,  mortal,   married-woman   saint.     Look  upon 
the  superscription  of  this  note;  you  know  Don  Gomez  his  wife. 

[Gives  him  a   letter. 

Dom.  Who?  Donna  Elvira?  I  think  I  have  some  reason;  I  am  her 
ghostly  father. 

Lor.  I  have  some  business  of  importance  with  her,  which  I  have 
communicated  in  this  paper;  but  her  husband  is  so  horribly  given  to  be 
jealous 

36.  e'en]   QqF.     also  SsM. 

37.  scnii'd]    (in.     'gcnp'd   V.     escaped  SsM, 
01.     GfJiiicz    hix]    QqV.      Gomez   's    SsM. 


334  THE  SPANISH  FRIAE 

Bom.    Ho,  jealous?  he  's  the  very  quintessence  of  jealousy;  he  keeps 
no  male  creature  in  his  house;  and  from  abroad  he  lets  no  man  come 
near  her. 
70        Lor.     Excepting  you,  father. 

Dam.  Me,  I  grant  you ;  I  am  her  director  and  her  guide  in  spiritual 
affairs;  but  he  has  his  humors  with  me  too;  for  t'  other  day  he  call'd  me 
false  apostle. 

Lor.  Did  he  so?  that  reflects  upon  you  all;  on  my  word,  father,  that 
touches  your  copyhold.  If  you  would  do  a  meritorious  action,  you  might 
revenge  the  Church's  quarrel. — My  letter,  father 

Bom.  Well,  so  far  as  a  letter,  I  will  take  upon  me;  for  what  can  I 
refuse  to  a  man  so  charitably  given? 

Lor.     If  you  bring  an  answer  back,  that  purse  in  your  hand  has  a 
80  twin  brother,  as  like  him  as  ever  he  can  look;  there  are  fifty  pieces  lie 
dormant  in  it,  for  more  charities. 

Bom.  That  must  not  be;  not  a  farthing  more,  upon  my  priesthood. 
But  what  may  be  the  purport  and  meaning  of  this  letter?  That,  I  con- 
fess, a  little  troubles  me. 

Lor.     No  harm,  I  warrant  you. 

Bom.  Well,  you  are  a  charitable  man ;  and  I'll  take  your  word :  my 
comfort  is,  I  know  not  the  contents;  and  so  far  I  am  blameless.  But 
an  answer  you  shall  have;  tho'  not  for  the  sake  of  your  fifty  pieces 
more :  I  have  sworn  not  to  take  them ;  they  shall  not  be  altogether  fifty. 
90  — Your  mistress — forgive  me,  that  I  should  call  her  your  mistress,  I 
meant  Elvira — lives  but  at  next  door:  I'll  visit  her  immediately;  but  not 
a  word  more  of  the  nine-and-forty  pieces. 

Lor.  Nay,  I'll  wait  on  you  down  stairs. — Fifty  pounds  for  the  pos- 
tage of  a  letter!  to  send  by  the  Church  is  certainly  the  dearest  road  in 
Christendom.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE   IV.— ^   Chamber. 
Gomez,  Elvira. 

Gom.  Henceforth  I  banish  flesh  and  wine:  I'll  have  none  stirring 
within  these  walls  these  twelve  months. 

Elv.  I  care  not ;  the  sooner  I  am  starv'd,  the  sooner  I  am  rid  of 
wedlock.  I  shall  learn  the  knack  to  fast  a-days;  you  have  us'd  me  to 
fasting  nights  already. 

Gom.     How  the  gipsy  answers  me!     O,  'tis  a  most  notorious  hilding! 

Elv.  [Crying.]  But  was  ever  poor  innocent  creature  so  hardly  dealt 
with,  for  a  little  harmless  chat? 

Gom.  O  the  impudence  of  this  wicked  sex!  Lascivious  dialogues  are 
10  innocent  with  you? 

Elv.     Was  it  such  a  crime  to  enquire  how  the  battle  pass'd? 

Gom.     But  that  was  not  the  business,  gentlewoman:   you  were  not 

91.     Elvira — lives]    SsM.      Elvira,    lives   Q1Q2F.      Elvira,   she   lives   Q3Q4. 
4.     a-days]   Q2Q3Q4.     a  days  QIF.     o'  daijs  SsM 


ACT  II,  SCENE  IV  335 

asking  news  of  a  battle  pass'd;  you  were  engaging  for  a  skirmish  that 
■was  to  come. 

Elv.  An  honest  woman  would  be  glad  to  hear  that  her  honor  was 
safe,  and  her  enemies  were  slain. 

Gom.   [In  her  tone.]     And  to  ask,  if  he  were  wounded  in  your  de- 
fense;  and,  in  case  he  were,  to  offer  yourself  to  be  his  chirurgeon; — 
then,  you  diil  not  describe  your  husband  to  him  for  a  covetous,  jealous, 
2U  rich  old  hunks. 

Elv.  No,  I  need  not;  he  describes  himself  sufficiently;  but,  in  what 
dream  did  I  do  this? 

Gom.  You  walk'd  in  your  sleep,  with  your  eyes  broad  open,  at 
noon  of  day;  and  dreamt  you  were  talking  to  the  foresaid  purpose  with 
one  Colonel  Hernando 

Elv.     Who,  dear  husband,  who? 

Gom.  What  the  devil  have  I  said?  You  would  have  farther  informa- 
tion, would  you? 

Elv.    No;  but  my  dear  little  old  man,  tell  me  now,  that  I  may  avoid 
30  hira  for  your  sake. 

Gom.  Get  you  up  into  your  chamber,  cockatrice;  and  there  immure 
yourself;  be  confin'd,  I  say,  during  our  royal  pleasure.  But,  first,  down 
on  your  marrowbones,  upon  your  allegiance,  and  make  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  your  offenses;   for  I  will  have  ample  satisfaction. 

[Pulls  her  down. 

Elv.  I  have  done  you  no  injury,  and  therefore  I'll  make  you  no 
submission:   but  I'll  complain  to  my  ghostly  father. 

Gom.     Aye,  there  's  your  remedy;   when  you  receive  condign  punish- 
ment, you  run  with  open  mouth  to  your  confessor;  that  parcel  of  holy 
guts  and  garbidge:  Ke  must  chuckle  you  and  moan  you;  but  I'll  rid  my 
40  hands  of  his  ghostly  authority  one  day, —  [Enter  Dominic] — and  make 

him  know  he  's  the  son  of  a [-Sees  him.]     So; no  sooner  conjure, 

but  the  devil  's  in  the  circle. — 

Dom.     Son  of  a  what,  Don  Gomez? 

Gom.  Why,  a  son  of  a  church;  I  hope  there  's  no  harm  in  that, 
father? 

Dom.  I  will  lay  up  your  words  for  you  till  time  shall  serve;  and 
to-morrow  I  enjoin  you  to  fast,  for  penance. 

Gom.  [Aside.]     There's  no  harm  in  that;  she  shall  fast  too:  fasting 
saves  money. 
50        Dom.  [To  Ely.]     What  was  the  reason  that  I  found  you  upon  your 
knees,  in  that  unseemly  posture? 

Gom.  [Aside.]  O  horrible!  to  find  a  woman  upon  hor  knees,  he  says, 
is  an  unseemly  posture;  there   's  a  priest  for  you! 

Elv.  [To  Dom.]  I  wish,  father,  you  would  give  me  an  opportunity 
of  entertaining  you  in  private:  I  have  somewhat  upon  my  spirits  that 
presses  mo  exceedingly. 

Dom    [Aside.]      This    goes    well: — Gomez,   stand   you   at    distance, — 


57.     at   dislancc]    QqF.      at   a   distance   SsM. 


60 


336  THE  SPANISH  FKIAK 

farther  yet, — stand  out  of  earshot; — I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  your 
wife  in  private. 

Gom.  [Aside.]  Was  ever  man  thus  priest-ridden?  Would  the  steeple 
of  his  church  were  in  his  belly:     I  am  sure  there  's  room  for  it. 

Elv.  I  am  asham'd  to  acknowledge  my  infirmities;  but  you  have 
been  always  an  indulgent  father,  and  therefore  I  will  venture  to — and 
yet  1  dare  not! 

Dom.  Nay,  if  you  are  bashful; — if  you  keep  your  wound  from  the 
knowledge  of  your  surgeon 

Elv.     You  know  my  luisband  is  a  man  in  years;   but  he  "s  my  hus- 
band, and  therefore   I  shall   be  silent;   but  his  humors  are  more  intol- 
erable then  his  age;  he  's  grown  so  froward,  so  covetous,  and  so  jealous, 
70  that  he  has  turn'd  my  heart  quite  from  him;  and,  if  I  durst  confess  it, 
has  forc'd  me  to  cast  my  affections  on  another  man. 

Dom.     Good: — hold,  hold;    I   meant   abominable.      [Aside] Pray 

heaven  this  be  my  colonel! 

Elv.  I  have  seen  this  man,  father,  and  have  incourag'd  his  ad- 
dresses; he  's  a  young  gentleman,  a  soldier,  of  a  most  winning  carriage: 
and  what  his  courtship  may  produce  at  last,  I  know  not;  but  I  am 
afraid  of  my  own  frailty. 

Dom.  [Aside.]     "Tis  he,  for  certain; — she  has  sav'd  the  credit  of  my 
function,  by  speaking  first ;  now  must  I  take  gravity  upon  me. 
80         Go)P.   [Aside.]     This    whispering    bodes    me    no    good,    for    certain; 
but  he  has  me  so  plaguily  under  the  lash  that  I  dare  not  interrupt  him. 

Dom.     Daughter,  daughter,  do  you  remember  your  matrimonial  vow? 

Elv.  Yes,  to  my  sorrow,  father,  I  do  remember  it ;  a  miserable 
woman  it  has  made  me:  but  you  know,  father,  a  marriage  vow  is  but  a 
thing  of  course,  which  all  women  take  when  they  would  get  a  husband. 

Dom.  A  vow  is  a  very  solemn  thing;  and  'tis  good  to  keep  it — but, 
notwithstanding,  it  may  be  broken  upon  some  occasions. — Have  you 
striven  with  all  your  might  against  this  frailty? 

Elv.     Yes,   I  have  striven ;   but  I  found  it  was  against  the  stream. 
90  Love,  you  know,  father,  is  a  great  vow-maker;  but  he  's  a  greater  vow- 
breaker. 

Dom.  'Tis  your  duty  to  strive  always;  but,  notwithstanding,  when 
we  have  done  our  utmost,  it  extenuates  the  sin. 

Gom.  I  can  hold  no  longer. Now,  gentlewoman,  you  are  con- 
fessing your  enormities;  I  know  it,  by  that  hypocritical  downcast  look. 
Enjoin  her  to  sit  bare  upon  a  bed  of  nettles,  father;  you  can  do  no  less, 
in  conscience. 

Dom.     Hold  your  peace;   are  you  growing  malapert?  will  you  force 
me  to  make  use  of  my  authority?     Your  wife   's  a  well-dispos'd  and  a 
100  virtuous  lady;  I  say  it,  in  verba  sacerdotis. 

Elv.  I  know  not  what  to  do,  father;  I  find  myself  in  a  most  des- 
perate condition ;  and  so  is  the  colonel,  for  love  of  me. 

Dom.     The  colonel,  say  you!     I  wish  it  be  not  the  same  young  gen- 

60.     Tie  •«]   Q1Q2Q3F.     he  is  Q4. 

99.     and  a  virtuous]   QqF.     and  virtuous  SsM, 


ACT  II,  SCENE  IV  337 

tleman  I  know.  "Tis  a  gallant  young  man,  I  must  confess,  worthy  of 
any  lady's  love  in  Christendom;  in  a  lawful  way,  I  mean:  of  such  a 
charming  behavior,  so  bewitching  to  a  woman's  eye,  and,  furthermore, 
so  charitably  given;  by  all  good  tokens,  this  must  be  my  Colonel  Her- 
nando. 

Eiv.     Aye,  and  my  colonel  too,  father:      I  am  overjoy'd! — and  are 
110  you  then  acquainted  with  him? 

Dom.  Acquainted  with  him!  why,  he  haunts  me  up  and  down;  and, 
I  am  afraid,  it  is  for  love  of  you;  for  he  press'd  a  letter  upon  me, 
within  this  hour,  to  deliver  to  you.  I  confess  I  receiv'd  it,  lest  he  should 
send  it  by  some  other;  but  with  full  resolution  never  to  put  it  into  your 
hands. 

Elv.    O  dear  father,  let  me  have  it,  or  I  shall  die! 

Goin.  Whispering  still!  A  pox  of  your  close  committee!  I'll  listen, 
I'm  resolv'd.  [S/ea's  nearer. 

Dom.     Nay,  if  you  are  obstinately  bent  to  see  it, — use  your  discre- 

120  tion;  but,  for  my  part,  I  wash  my  hands  on  't. — What  make  you  list'ning 

there?    Get  farther  off;  I  preach  not  to  thee,  thou  wicked  eavesdropper. 

Elv.  I'll  kneel  down,  father,  as  if  I  were  taking  absolution,  if  you'll 
but  please  to  stand  before  me. 

Dom.  At  your  peril  be  it,  then.  I  have  told  you  the  ill  conse- 
quences; ct  liberavi  cnimam  mcnm. — Your  reputation  is  in  danger,  to 
say  nothing  of  your  soul.  Notwithstanding,  when  the  spiritual  means 
have  been  applied,  and  fail,  in  that  case  the  carnal  may  be  us'd. — You 
are  a  tender  child,  you  are,  and  must  not  be  put  into  despair;  your 
heart  is  as  soft  and  melting  as  your  hand. 

[He  stroJces  her  face,  takes  her  by  the  hand,  and  gives 
the  letter.] 
130         Com.     Hold,  hold,  father,  you  go  beyond  your  commission;  palming 
is  always  held  foul  play  amongst  gamesters. 

Dom.  Thus  good  intentions  are  misconstrued  by  wicked  men;  you 
will  never  be  warn'd  till  you  are  excommunicate. 

Gom.  [Aside.]  Ah,  devil  on  him;  there  's  his  hold!  If  there  were 
no  more  in  excommunication  then  the  Church's  censure,  a  wise  man  would 
lick  his  conscience  whole  with  a  wet  finger;  but,  if  I  am  excommunicate, 
I  am  outlaw'd,  and  then  there  's  no  calling  in  my  money. 

Elv.  [Rising.]  I  have  read  the  note,  father,  and  will  send  him  an 
answer  immediately;  for  I  know  his  lodgings  by  his  letter. 
140  Dom.  I  understand  it  not,  for  my  part;  but  I  wish  your  intentions 
be  honest.  Remember  that  adultery,  tho'  it  be  a  silent  sin,  yet  it  is  a 
crying  sin  also.  Nevertheless,  if  you  believe  absolutely  he  will  die,  unless 
you  pity  him,  to  save  a  man's  life  is  a  point  of  charity;  and  actions  of 
charity  do  alleviate,  as  I  may  say,  and  take  off  from  the  mortality  of  tha 

117.  irhiipering  still]   Qq  print  these  words  as  a  stage  direction;  F  cor. 
rects  the  error. 

118.  I'm]    Q1Q2F.      /  am  Q3Q4. 
120.      on  71  QqF.      of  it  SsM. 

»na^cl  Q(iF.      makes  SsM,  spoiling  llie  sense. 
127.      fail]    g2    SsM.      fails    Q1Q:{Q4F. 
137.     and  then  there's  no]   QqF.     and  there  is  no  SsM. 


338  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

sin.  Farewell,  daughter. — Gomez,  cherish  your  virtuous  wife;  and  there- 
upon 1  give  you  my  benediction.  [Goi7ig. 

Gom.  Stay;  I'll  conduct  you  to  the  door, — that  I  may  be  sure  you 
steal  nothing  by  the  way.  Friars  wear  not  their  long  sleeves  for  noth- 
ing.— O,  'tis  a  Judas  Iscariot.  [Exit  after  the  Friar. 
150  Elv.  This  friar  is  a  comfortable  man!  He  will  understand  nothing 
of  the  business,  and  yet  does  it  all. 

Pray,  Avives  and  virgins,  at  your  time  of  need, 

For  a  true  guide,  of  my  good  father's  breed.  [Exit. 


ACT  III 

SCENE  I.— The  Street. 
Lorenzo  m  Friar's  Habit,  meeting  Dominic. 

Lor.     Father  Dominic,  Father  Dominic;  why  in  such  haste,  man'? 

Dom.    It  should  seem,  a  brother  of  our  order. 

Lor.  No,  faith,  I  am  only  your  brother  in  iniquity;  my  holiness,  like 
yours,  is  mere  outside. 

Dom.  What!  my  noble  colonel  in  metamorphosis!  On  what  occasion 
are  you  transform'd? 

Lor.     Love,   almighty  love;    that  which  turn'd   Jupiter  into   a  town 
bull,  has  transform'd  me  into  a  friar.     I  have  had  a  letter  from  Elvira, 
in  answer  to  that  I  sent  by  you. 
10        Dom.    You  see  I  have  deliver'd  my  message  faithfully;  I  am  a  friar 
of  honor,  where  I  am  engag'd. 

Lor.  O,  I  understand  your  hint;  the  other  fifty  pieces  are  ready  to 
be  condemn'd  to  charity. 

Dom.    But  this  habit,  son!  this  habit! 

Lor.  'Tis  a  habit  that  in  all  ages  has  been  friendly  to  fornication: 
you  have  begun  the  design  in  this  clothing,  and  I  '11  try  to  accomplish 
it.  The  husband  is  absent,  that  evil  counselor  is  remov'd,  and  the  sov- 
ereign is  graciously  dispos'd  to  hear  my  grievances. 

Dom.  Go  to,  go  to;  I  find  good  counsel  is  but  thrown  away  upon  you. 
20  Fare  you  well,  fare  you  well,  son!    Ah! 

Lor.  How!  will  you  turn  recreant  at  the  last  cast?  You  must  along 
to  countenance  my  undertaking:  we  are  at  the  door,  man. 

Dom.    Well,  I  have  thought  on  't,  and  I  will  not  go. 

Lor.  You  may  stay,  father,  but  no  fifty  pounds  without  it;  that  was 
only  promis'd  in  the  bond:  "But  the  condition  of  this  obligation  is 
Buch,  that  if  the  above-nam'd  father,  Father  Dominic,  do  not  well  and 
faithfully  perform" 

Dom.     Now  I  better  think  on  't,  I  will  bear  you  company;   for  the 
reverence  of  my  presence  may  be  a  curb  to  your  exorbitancies. 
30        Lor.     Lead  up  your  myrmidon,  and  enter.  [Exeunt. 


[Lorenzo   in   Friar's  Habit]    QqF.      [Enter   Lorenzo   in   a   Friar's  Habit] 

SsM. 

29.     presencel  QqF.     person  SsM. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  339 

SCENE  XL— Elvira's   Chamber. 

Enter  Elvira. 

Elv.  He  'II  come,  that  's  certain;  young  appetites  are  sharp,  and 
seklom  need  twice  bidding  to  such  a  banquet! — Well,  if  I  prove  frail, 
as  I  hope  I  shall  not  till  I  have  compass 'd  my  design,  never  woman  had 
such  a  husband  to  provoke  her,  such  a  lover  to  allure  her,  or  such  a  con- 
fessor to  absolve  her.  Of  what  am  I  afraid,  then?  Not  my  conscience, 
that  's  safe  enough;  my  ghostly  father  has  given  it  a  dose  of  church 
opium,  to  lull  it.  Well,  for  soothing  sin,  I'll  say  that  for  him,  he  's  a 
chaplain  for  any  court  in  Christendom. 

Enter  Lorenzo  and  Dominic. 

O,  Father  Dominic,  what  news? — How,  a  companion  with  you!  What 
10  game  have  you  in  hand,  that  you  hunt  in  couples? 

Lor.  [Lifting  up  his  hood.]     I'll  shew  you  that  immediately. 

Elv.     O,  my  love! 

Lor.     My  life! 

Elv.     My   soul!  \Thcy   cmhrace. 

Dom.  I  am  taken  on  the  sudden  with  a  grievous  swimming  in  my 
head,  and  such  a  mist  before  my  eyes,  that  I  can  neither  hear  nor  see. 

Elv.     Stay,  and  I'll  fetch  you  some  comfortable  water. 

Bom.     No,  no;   nothing  but  the  open  air  will  do  me  good.     Ill  take 

a  turn  in  your  garden;  but  remember  that  I  trust  you  both,  and  do  not 

20  wrong  my  good  opinion  of  you.  [Exit  Dominic. 

Elv.  This  is  certainly  the  dust  of  gold  which  you  have  thrown  in 
the  good  man's  eyes,  that  on  the  sudden  he  cannot  see;  for  my  mind 
misgives  me,  this  sickness  of  his  is  but  apocryphal. 

Lor.  'Tis  no  qualm  of  conscience,  I'll  be  sworn.  You  see,  madam, 
'tis  interest  governs  all  the  world.  He  preaches  against  sin;  why?  be- 
cause he  gets  by  't.  He  holds  his  tongue;  why?  because  so  much  more 
is  bidden  for  his  silence. 

Elv.     And  so  much  for  the  friar. 

Lor.  O,  those  eyes  of  yours  reproach  me  justly,  that  I  neglect  the 
30  subject  which  brought  me  hither. 

Elv.  Do  you  consider  the  hazard  I  have  run  to  see  you  here?  If 
you  do,  methinks  it  should  inform  you  that  I  love  not  at  a  common  rate. 

Lor.  Nay,  if  you  talk  of  considering,  let  us  consider  why  we  are 
alone.  Do  you  think  the  friar  left  us  together  to  tell  beads?  Love  is  a 
kind   of   penurious   god,   very   niggardly   of   his   opportunities:    he   must 


[ScKNE  11]  QqF  do  not  Indicate  a  new  scene,  reading  merely  Enter  EUiia 
in   hrr  < 7in»i/ifr.     The  form   in   the   text  is  Jaken  from   SsM. 

2(1.      hii  't\    QqF.      Iti/   it   SsM. 

27.  niloirr]  ,\fter  tlii.s  <^■{<H  add:  'Tis  }>iit  i)irinp  a  man  hi.<t  price,  (iiid 
principles  of  Church  are  boiiijht  off  as  easily  as  ihcy  are  in  State:  no  man 
will  he  a  rofuic  fur  nothiiii/.  but  cinHjtensdiitin  tinist  he  iiitnh  ,  so  inucli  tjold 
for  so  rtniih  hoiustii;  inid  ih<n  ii  cliurtliniiin  trill  hrciil;  the  rules  of  chess, 
for  the  hin/k  hislioii  irill  slap  into  tlic  ufiitc.  and  the  irhitc  into  the  black, 
tcithout   cinisiderintj    uluthir    the   remiire    he   lauful. 

35.      of   penurious\    (jl(.^2(.j;iF.      of   u    penurious    Q4. 


340  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

be  watch'd  like  a  hard-hoartcd  treasurer;    for  he  bolts  out  on  the  sud- 
den, and,  if  you  take  him  not  in  the  nick,  he  vanishes  in  a  twinkling. 

Elv.     Why  do  you  make  such  haste  to  have  done  loving  me?     You 
men  are  all  like  watches,  wound  up  for  striking  twelve  immediately;  but 
40  after  you  are  satisfied,  the  very  next  that  follows,  is  the  solitary  sound 
of  single  one. 

Lor.  How,  madam!  do  you  invite  me  to  u  feast,  and  then  preach 
abstinence? 

Elv.  No,  I  invite  you  to  a  feast  where  the  dishes  are  serv'd  up  in 
order;  you  are  for  making  a  hasty  meal,  and  for  chopping  up  your  enter- 
tainment, like  an  hungry  clown.  Trust  my  management,  good  colonel, 
and  call  not  for  your  dessert  too  soon :  believe  me,  that  which  comes  last, 
as  it  is  the  sweetest,  so  it  cloys  the  soonest. 

Lor.     1  perceive,  madam,  by  your  holding  me  at  this  distance,  that 
50  there  is   somewhat   you   expect   from   me:    what   am   I   to   undertake,   or 
suffer,  ere  I  can  be  happy? 

Elv.     I  must  first  be  satisfied,  that  you  love  me. 

Lor.     By  all  that  's  holy!  by  these  dear  eyes! 

Elv.  Spare  your  oaths  and  protestations;  I  know  you  gallants  of 
the  time  ha\-e  a  mint  at  your  tongue's  end  to  coin  them. 

Lor.  You  know  you  cannot  marry  me;  but,  by  heavens,  if  you  v/erc 
in  a  condition 

Elv.     Then  you  would  not  be  so  prodigal  of  your  promises,  but  Jiave 
the  fear  of  matrimony  before  your  eyes.     In  few  words,  if  you  love  me, 
60  as  you  profess,  deliver  me  from  this  bondage,  take  me  out  of  Egypt,  and 
I'll  wander  with  you  as  far  as  earth,  and  seas,  and  love,  can  carry  us. 

Lor.  1  never  was  out  at  a  mad  frolic,  tho"  this  is  the  maddest  I  ever 
undertook.  Have  with  you,  lady  mine;  I  take  you  at  your  word;  and,  if 
you  are  for  a  merry  jaunt,  I'll  try  for  once  who  can  foot  it  farthest. 
There  are  hedges  in  summer,  and  barns  in  winter,  to  be  found ;  I  with 
my  knapsack,  and  you  with  your  bottle  at  your  back;  we'll  leave  honor 
to  madmen,  and  riches  to  knaves;  and  travel  till  we  come  to  the  ridge 
of  the  world,  and  then  drop  together  into  the  next. 

Elv.     Give  me  your  hand,  and  strike  a  bargain. 

[He  takes  her  hand,  and  Icisscs  it. 
70         Lor.     In   sign  and   token  whereof,   the  parties  interchangeably,  and 
so  forth. — When  should  I  be  weary  of  sealing  upon  this  soft  wax? 

Elv.     0  heavens!   I  hear  my  husband's  voice. 

Enter  Gomez. 

Gom.  Where  are  you,  gentlewoman?  there  's  something  in  the  wind, 
I'm  sure,  because  your  woman  would  have  run  up  stairs  before  me;  but 
I  have  seeur'd  her  below,  with  a  gag  in  her  chaps. — Now,  in  the  devil's 
name,  what  makes  this  friar  hei'e  again?  I  do  not  like  these  frequent 
conjunctions  of  the  flesh  and  spirit ;   they  are  boding. 


41.     of  single  one]   Qq.     of  a  sinple  one  F.     of  a  single — one!  SsM, 
59.     In  fcic]    QqF.     In  a  few   SsM. 
66.     ice'll]   QqF.     kc  uill  SsM, 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  341 

Elv.  Go  hence,  good  father;  my  husband,  you  see,  is  in  an  ill 
humor,  and  I  would  not  have  you  witness  of  his  folly. 

[Lorenzo  going. 
gQ  Gom.  [Eicnning  to  the  door.]  By  your  reverence's  favor,  hold  a 
little;  I  must  examine  you  something  better,  before  you  go.  Hiday!  who 
have  we  here?  Father  Dominic  is  shrunk  in  the  wetting  two  yards 
and  a  half  about  the  belly.  What  are  become  of  those  two  timber  logs 
that  he  us'd  to  wear  for  legs,  that  stood  strutting  like  the  two  black  posts 
before  a  door?  I  am  afraid  some  bad  body  has  been  setting  him  over 
a  fire  in  a  great  cauldron,  and  boil'd  him  down  half  the  quantity,  for  a 
receipt.  This  is  no  Father  Dominic,  no  huge  overgrown  abbey-lubber ; 
this  is  but  a  diminutive  sucking  friar.  As  sure  as  a  gun,  now.  Father 
Dominic  has  been  spawning  this  young  slender  antichrist. 
90        Elv.  [Aside.]     He  will  be  found,  there  's  no  prevention. 

Gom.  Why  does  he  not  speak?  What!  Is  the  friar  possess'd  with 
a  dumb  devil?     If  he  be,  I  shall  make  bold  to  conjure  him. 

Elv.  He  's  but  a  novice  in  his  order,  and  is  injoin'd  silence  for  a 
penance. 

Gom.  A  novice,  quotha!  you  would  make  a  novice  of  me  too,  if  you 
could.  But  what  was  his  business  here?  Answer  me  that,  gentle- 
woman, answer  me  that. 

Elv.     What  should  it  be,  but  to  give  me  some  spiritual  instructions? 

Gom.  Very  good;  and  you  are  like  to  edify  much  from  a  dumb 
100  preacher.  This  will  not  pass;  I  must  examine  the  contents  of  him  a 
little  closer.  O  thou  confessor,  confess  who  thou  art,  or  thou  art  no 
friar  of  this  world!  —  [lie  comes  to  Lorenzo,  who  struggles  with  him; 
his  habit  flies  open,  and  discovers  a  sword;  Gomez  starts  hack.] — As 
1  live,  this  is  a  manifest  member  of  the  Church  Militant. 

Lor.  [Aside.]  I  am  discover'd;  now,  impudence  be  my  refuge. — Yes, 
faith,  'tis  I,  honest  Gomez;  thou  seest  I  use  thee  like  a  friend;  this  is 
a  familiar  visit. 

Gom.     W'hat!     Colonel  Hernando  turn'd  a  friar;  who  could  have  sus- 
pected you  for  so  much  godliness? 
110        Lor.    E'en  as  thou  seest,  I  make  bold  here. 

Gom.  A  very  frank  manner  of  proceeding;  but  I  do  not  wonder  at 
your  visit,  after  so  friendly  an  invitation  as  I  made  you.  Marry,  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  the  blunderbusses  for  not  being  in  readiness  to  salute 
you;  but  let  me  know  your  hour,  and  all  shall  be  mended  another  time. 

Lor.  Hang  it,  I  hate  such  ripping  up  of  old  unkindness:  I  was  upon 
the  frolic  this  evening,  and  came  to  visit  thee  in  masquerade. 

Gom,  Very  likely;  and  not  finding  me  at  home,  you  were  forc'd  to 
toy  away  an  hour  with  my  wife,  or  so. 

Lor.     Right ;  thou  speakest  my  very  soul. 
120         Gom.     Why,  am  not  I  a  friend,  then,  to  help  you  out?     You  would 
have  been  fumbling  half  an  hour  for  this  excuse. — But,  as  I  remember, 

87.     receipt]  (JqF.     recipe  SsM. 
]()!».      for]    liiiy^l'.      of   y3Q4Ss>r. 
1211.     „    friend.    Ihn,]    (.)U>2I-\      Ihcu   a    friend  Q.'^Q4. 

1J0U  out]   QqF.     thee  out  SsM,  to  the  detriment  of  the  sense. 


342  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

you  promis'd  to  storm  my  citadel,  and  bring  your  regiment  of  red 
locusts  upon  me  for  free  quarter:  I  find,  colonel,  by  your  habit,  there 
are  black  locusts  in  the  world,  as  \yc11  as  red. 

Elv.  [Aside.]  When  comes  my  share  of  the  reckoning  to  be  call'd 
for? 

Lor.  Give  me  thy  hand;  thou  art  the  honestest,  kind  man!  I  uas 
resolv'd  I  would  not  out  of  thy  house  till  I  had  seen  thee. 

Gout.  No,  in  my  conscience,  if  I  had  stay'd  abroad  till  midnight. 
130  But,  colonel,  you  and  I  shall  talk  in  another  tone  hereafter;  I  mean,  in 
cold  friendship,  at  a  bar,  before  a  judge,  by  the  way  of  plaintiff  and 
defendant.  Your  excuses  want  some  grains  to  make  'em  current:  hum 
and  ha  will  not  do  the  business. — There  's  a  modest  lady  of  your  ac- 
quaintance, she  has  so  much  grace  to  make  none  at  all,  but  silently  to 
confess  the  power  of  Dame  Nature  Avorking  in  her  body  to  youthful 
appetite. 

Elv.    How  he  got  in  I  know  not,  unless  it  were  by  virtue  of  his  habit. 

Gom.     Aye,  aye,  the  virtues  of  that  habit  are  known  abundantly. 

Elv.     I  could  not  hinder  his  entrance,  for  he  took  mo  unprovided. 
140         Gom,     To  resist  him. 

Elv.    I'm  sure  he  has  not  been  here  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Gom.  And  a  quarter  of  that  time  would  have  serv'd  the  turn.  O 
thou  epitome  of  thy  virtuous  sex!  Madam  Messalina  the  second,  retire 
to  thy  apartment:     I  have  an  assignation  there  to  make  with  thee. 

Elv.     I  am  all  obedience. —  [Exit  Elvira. 

Lor.  I  find,  Gomez,  you  are  not  the  man  I  thought  you.  We  may 
meet  before  we  come  to  the  bar,  we  may;  and  our  differences  may  be 
decided  by  other  weapons  then  by  lawyers'  tongues.  In  the  meantime, 
no  ill  treatment  of  your  wife,  as  you  hope  to  die  a  natural  death,  and 
KO  go  to  hell  in  your  bed.  Bilbo  is  the  word,  remember  that,  and 
tremble. [He  's  going  out. 

Enter  Dominic. 

Dam.  Where  is  this  naughty  couple?  Where  are  you,  in  the  name 
of  goodness?  My  mind  misgave  me,  and  I  durst  trust  you  no  longer 
with  yourselves:  here  will  be  fine  work,  I'm  afraid,  at  your  next  con- 
fession. 

Lor.  [Aside.]  The  devil  is  punctual,  I  see;  he  has  paid  me  the 
shame  he  ow'd  me;  and  now  the  friar  is  coming  in  for  his  part  too. 

Dom,.  [Seeing  Gom.]     Bless  my  eyes!     What  do  I  see? 

Gom.  Why,  you  see  a  cuckold  of  this  honest  gentleman's  making;  I 
160  thank  him  for  his  pains. 

Dom.     1  confess,  I  am  astonish'd! 

Gom.  What,  at  a  cuckoldom  of  your  own  contrivance!  Your  head- 
piece, and  his  limbs,  have  done  my  business. — Nay,  do  not  look  so 
strangely;  remember  your  own  words:  "Here  will  be  fine  work  at  your 
next  confession."  What  naughty  couple  were  they  whom  you  durst  not 
trust  together  any  longer? — when  the  hypocritical  rogue  had  trusted  'em 

12.3.     quarter]  QqF.     quarters  SsM. 
'  150.     in]   QqF.     on  SsM. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  343 

a  full  quarter  of  an  hour;  and,  by  the  way,  horns  will  sprout  in  less 
time  than  mushrooms. 

Dom.  Beware  how  you  accuse  one  of  my  order  upon  light  sus- 
170  picions.  The  naughty  couple  that  I  meant,  were  your  wife  and  you, 
whom  I  left  together  with  great  animosities  on  both  sides.  Now,  that 
was  the  occasion,  mark  me,  Gomez,  that  I  thought  it  convenient  to  re- 
turn again,  and  not  to  trust  your  enrag'd  spirits  too  long  together.  You 
might  have  broken  out  into  revilings  and  matrimonial  warfare,  which 
are  sins;  and  new  sins  make  work  for  new  confessions. 

Lor.  [Aside.]  Well  said,  i'  faith,  friar;  thou  art  come  off  thyself, 
but  poor  I  am  left  in  limbo. 

Gom.  Angle  in  some  other  ford,  good  father,  you  shall  catch  no 
gudgeons  here.  Look  upon  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  friar,  and  inform 
180  the  court  what  you  know  concerning  him;  he  is  arraign'd  here  by  the 
name  of  Colonel  Hernando. 

Dom.  What  colonel  do  you  mean,  Gomez?  I  see  no  man  but  a 
reverend  brother  of  our  order,  whose  profession  I  honor,  but  whose  per- 
son I  know  not,  as  I  hope  for  paradise. 

Gom.  No,  you  are  not  acquainted  with  him,  the  more  's  the  pity; 
you  do  not  know  him,  under  this  disguise,  for  the  greatest  cuckold-maker 
in  all  Spain. 

Dom.  O  impudence!  O  rogue!  0  villain!  Nay,  if  he  be  such  a 
man,  my  righteous  spirit  rises  at  him!  Does  he  put  on  holy  garments 
^^  for  a  cover-shame  of  lewdness? 

Gom.  Yes,  and  he  's  in  the  right  on  "t,  father:  when  a  swingeing 
sin  is  to  be  committed,  nothing  will  cover  it  so  close  as  a  friar's  hood; 
for  there  the  devil  plays  at  bo-peep;  puts  out  his  horns  to  do  a  mis- 
chief, and  then  shrinks  'em  back  for  safety,  like  a  snail  into  her  shell. 

Lor.  [Aside.'\  It's  best  marching  off,  while  I  can  retreat  with  honor. 
There  's  no  trusting  this  friar's  conscience;  he  has  renounc'd  me  already 
more  heartily  then  e'er  he  did  the  devil,  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  prose- 
cute mo  for  putting  on  these  holy  robes.  This  is  the  old  church-trick; 
the  clergy  is  ever  at  the  bottom  of  the  plot,  but  they  are  wise  enough 
^'W  to  slip  their  own  necks  out  of  the  collar,  and  leave  the  laity  to  be 
fairly  hang'd  for  it.  [Exit. 

Gom.  Follow  your  leader,  friar;  your  colonel  is  troop'd  off,  but  he 
had  not  gone  so  easily,  if  I  durst  have  trusted  you  in  the  house  behind 
me.  Gather  up  your  gouty  legs,  I  say,  and  rid  my  house  of  that  huge 
body  of  divinity. 

Dom.  I  expect  some  judgment  should  fall  upon  you,  for  your  want 
of  reverence  to  your  spiritual  director:  slander,  covetousness,  and  jealousy 
will  weigh  thee  down. 

Gom.  Put  pride,  hypocrisy,  and  gluttony  into  your  scale,  father, 
210  and  you  shall  weigh  against  me:  nay,  and  sins  come  to  be  divided  once, 
the  clergy  puts  in  for  nine  parts,  and  scarce  leaves  the  laity  a  tithe. 


170.  meant]    QIF.      mrnn    Q2Q3Q4. 

191.  iiici)t(j<  i)i(j\     suiiul<ji)i(j    giUliQ."!!".       stcinyiny    Q4SsM,    spoiling    the 
sense. 

210.  and  sins]   QqF.     an'  sins  SsM. 


344  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

Dom.     How  (larest  thou  reproach  the  tribe  of  Levi? 

Gom.  Marry,  because  you  make  us  laymen  of  the  tribe  of  Tssachar. 
You  make  asses  of  us,  to  bear  your  burthens.  When  we  are  young,  you 
put  panniers  upon  us  with  your  church  discipline;  and  when  we  are 
grown  up,  you  load  us  with  a  wife:  after  that,  you  procure  for  other 
men,  and  then  you  load  our  wives  too.  A  fine  phrase  you  have  amongst 
you  to  draw  us  into  marriage;  you  call  it — settling  of  a  man;  just  as 
when  a  fellow  has  got  a  sound  knock  upon  the  head,  they  say  he  's 
220  settled:  marriage  is  a  settling  blow  indeed.  They  say  everything  in  the 
world  is  good  for  something ;  as  a  toad,  to  suck  up  the  venom  of  the 
earth;  but  I  never  knew  what  a  friar  Avas  good  for,  till  your  pimping 
show'd  me. 

Dom.  Thou  shalt  answer  for  this,  thou  slanderer;  thy  offenses  be 
upon  thy  head. 

Gom.  I  believe  there  are  some  offenses  there  of  your  planting. 
[Exit  Dominic]  Lord,  Lord,  that  men  should  have  sense  enough  to  set 
snares  in  their  warrens  to  catch  polecats  and  foxes,  and  yet — 

Want  wit  a  priest-trap  at  their  door  to  Jay, 
230        For  holy  vermin  that  in  houses  prey.  [Exit  Gomez. 


SCENE  Ul.—A  Bedchamber. 

Queen,  Teresa. 

Ter.     You  are  not  what  you  were,  since  yesterday; 
Your  food  forsakes  you,  and  your  needful  rest; 
You  pine,  you  languish,  love  to  be  alone; 
Think  much,  speak  little,  and,  in  speaking,  sigh: 
When  you  see  Torrismond,  you  are  unquiet. 
But,  when  you  see  him  not,  you  are  in  pain. 

Qu.     O  let  'em  never  love  who  never  tried ! 
They  brought  a  paper  to  me  to  be  sign'd ; 
Thinking  on  him,  I  quite  forgot  my  name; 

10  And  writ,  for  Leonora,  Torrismond. 
I  went  to  bed,  and  to  myself  I  thought 
That  I  would  think  on  Torrismond  no  more; 
Then  shut  my  eyes,  but  could  not  shut  out  him. 
I  turn'd,  and  tried  each  corner  of  my  bed, 
To  find  if  sleep  were  there,  but  sleep  was  lost. 
Fev'rish,  for  want  of  rest,  I  rise,  and  walk'd, 
And,  by  the  moonshine,  to  the  windows  went; 
There,  thinking  to  exclude  him  from  my  thoughts, 
I  east  my  eyes  upon  the  neighboring  fields, 

20  And,  ere  I  was  aware,  sigh'd  to  myseif: 
"There  fought  my  Torrismond." 


212.     d^irest]   Qq.     dar'st  FSsM. 

218.     settUvf/  of  a]    Q1Q2F.     settluuj  a  Q3Q4. 

16.     rise  QqF.     rose   SsM. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  III  345 

Ter.    What  hinders  you  to  take  the  man  you  love  I 
The  people  will  be  glad,  the  soldiers  shout, 
And  Bertran,  tho '  repining,  will  be  aw  M. 

Qu.     I  fear  to  try  new  love, 
As  boys  to  venture  on  the  unknown  ice, 
That  crackles  underneath  'em  while  they  slide. 
O,  how  shall  I  describe  this  growing  ill! 
Betwixt  my  doubt  and  love,  methinks  I  stand 
30  Alt 'ring,  like  one  that  waits  an  ague  fit; 
And  yet,  would  this  were  all! 

Ter.  What  fear  you  more? 

Qii.     I  am  asham'd  to  say,  'tis  but  a  fancy. 
At  break  of  day,  when  dreams,  they  say,  are  true, 
A  drowsy  slumber,  rather  then  a  sleep, 
SeizM  on   my   senses,   with   long  watching  worn : 
Methought  I  stood  on  a  wide  river's  bank, 
Which  I  must  needs  o'erpass,  but  knew  not  how; 
When,  on  a  sudden,  Torrismond  appear'd. 
Gave  me  his  hand,  and  led  me  lightly  o'er, 
40  Leaping  and  bounding  on  the  billows'  heads. 
Till  safely  we  had  reach'd  the  farther  shore. 

Ter.     This  dream  portends  some  ill  which  you  shall  scape. 
Would  you  see  fairer  visions?     Take  this  night 
Your  Torrismond  within  your  arms  to  sleep; 
And,  to  that  end,  invent  some  apt  pretense 
To  break  with  Bertran:  'twould  be  better  yet. 
Could  you  provoke  him  to  give  you  th'  occasion, 
And  then  to  throw  him  oflf. 

Enter  Bertran  a1  a  distance. 

Qn.  IMy  stars  have  sent  him; 

For,  see,  he  comes.     How   gloomily  he  looks! 
50  If  he,  as  1  suspect,  have  found  my  love. 
His  jealousy  will   furnish   him   with   fury,_ 
And  mo  with   means  to  ])art. 

Bert.  [Aside.]    Shall  1  upbraid  her?     Shall  I  call  her  false? 
If  she  be  false,  'tis  what  she  most  desires. 
My  genius  whispers  me:     "Be  cautious,  Bertran! 
Thou  walk'st  as  on  a  narrow  mountain's  nei-k, 
A  dreadful  height,  with  scanty  room  to  tread." 

Qu.     Wh'it  bus'ness  have  you  at  the  court,  my  lord? 

Bert.     What  bus'ness,  madam? 

Qu.  Yes,  my  Lord,  what  bus'ness? 

00  Tis  somewhat,  sure,  of  weighty  consequence, 


2.'3.     soldiers   shout]    Q2Q3Q4.      soldier  shout    QIF,    probably    a    mere    mis- 
print. 

After   shout   Q3Q4    insert  : 

The  old  kin(/'8  party  trill  despair  to  find 

A  prince   ivhosc  coura<jc  can  support   the  throne. 


80 


346  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

That  brings  you  here  so  often,  anil  unsent  for. 

Bert.  [Aside.]      'Tis  what  I  fcar'd;  her  words  are  cold  enough 

To  freeze  a  man  to  death. May  I  presume 

To  speak,  and  to  complain? 

Qu.     They  who  complain  to  princes  think  'em  tame: 
What  bull  dare  bellow,  or  what  sheep  dares  bleat 
Within  the  lion's  den? 

Bert.     Yet  men  are  suffer'd  to  put  heav'n  in  mind 
Of  promis'd  blessings;  for  they  then  are  debts. 
1Q        Qu.     My  lord,  heav'n  knows  its  own  time  when  to  give; 
But  you,  it  seems,  charge  me  with  breach  of  faith! 

Bert.     I  hope  I  need  not,  madam; 
But  as,  when  men  in  sickness  ling  'ring  lie. 
They  count  the  tedious  hours  by  months  and  years; 
So,  every  day  deferr'd,  to  dying  lovers. 
Is  a  whole  age  of  pain! 

Qu.     What  if  I  ne'er  consent  to  make  you  mine? 
My  fathers  promise  ties  me  not  to  time; 
And  bonds  without  a  date,  they  say,  are  void. 

Bert.     Far  be  it  from  nie  to  believe  you  bound; 
Love  is  the  freest  motion  of  our  minds: 
O,  could  you  see  into  my  secret  soul. 
There  you  might  read  your  own  dominion  doubled, 
Both  as  a  queen  and  mistress.     If  yon  leave  me, 
Know  I  can  die,  but  dare  not  be  displeas'd. 

Qu.     Sure  you  affect  stupidity,  my  lord ; 
Or  give  me  cause  to  think,  that,  when  you  lost 
Three  battles  to  the  Moors,  you  coldly  stood 
As  unconcern'd  as  now. 

Bert.  I  did  my  best; 

90  Fate  was  not  in  my  power. 

Qu.     And  with  the  like  tame  gravity  you  saw 
A  raw  young  warrior  take  your  baflled  work 
And  end  it  at  a  blow. 

Bert.     I  humbly  take  my  leave;  but  they,  who  blast 
Your  good  opinion  of  me,  may  have  cause 
To  know  I  am  no  coward.  [He  is  going. 

Qu.  Bertran,  stay, 

[Aside.]     This  may  produce  some  dismal  consequence 
To  him  whom  dearer  than  my  life  I  love, 
[To  him.]     Have  I  not  manag'd  my  contrivance  well, 
IQO  To  try  your  love,  and  make  you  doubt  of  mine? 

Bert.    Then,  was  it  but  a  trial? 
Methinks  I  start  as  from  some  dreadful  dream, 
And  often  ask  myself  if  yet  I  wake. 


66.     hull  dare^    QqF.     Tyull  dares   SsM. 

sheep  dares]   Q1Q2F.     sheep  dare  Q3Q4. 
83.     you  mujht]   QqF.     might  you  SsM. 
98.     xchotn]    Q1Q2F.     who   Q3Q4. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  III  347 

[Aside.]     This  turns  too  quick  to  be  without  design; 
I'll  sound  the  bottom  of  't,  ere  I  believe. 

Qu.     I  find  your  love,  and  would  reward  it  too, 
But  anxious  fears  solicit  my  weak  breast. 
I  fear  my  people's  faith; 

That  hot-mouth'd  beast  that  bears  against  the  curb, 
110  Hard  to  be  broken  even  by  lawful  kings, 
But  harder  by  usurpers. 

Judge  then,  my  lord,  with  all  these  cares  oppress'd, 
If  I  cau  think  of  love. 

Bert.  Believe  me,  madam. 

These  jealousies,  however  large  they  spread, 
Have  but  one  root,  the  old  imprison 'd  king; 
Whose  lenity  first  pleas'd  the  gaping  crowd; 
But  when  long  tried,  and  found  supinely  good. 
Like  ^sop's  Log,  they  leapt  upon  his  back. 
Your  father  knew  'em  well;  and  when  he  mounted, 
120  He  rein'd  'em  strongly,  and  he  spurr'd  them  hard: 
And,  but  he  durst  not  do  it  all  at  once, 
He  had  not  left  alive  this  patient  saint. 
This  anvil  of  affronts,  but  sent  him  hence 
To  hold  a  peaceful  branch  of  palm  above, 
And  hymn  it  in  the  choir. 

Qu.     You've  hit  upon  the  very  string  which,  touch'd, 
Echoes  the  sound,  and  jars  within  my  soul; 
There  lies  my  grief. 

Bert.                      So  long  as  there  's  a  head, 
Thither  will  all  the  mounting  spirits  fly; 
130  Lop  that  but  off,  and  then 

Qu.     My  virtue  shrinks  from  such  an  horrid  act. 

Bert.    This  'tis  to  have  a  virtue  out  of  season. 
Mercy  is  good,  a  very  good  dull  virtue; 
But  kings  mistake  its  timing,  and  are  mild 
When  manly  courage  bids  'em  be  severe: 
Better  be  cruel  once  then  anxious  ever. 
Kemove  this  threat'ning  danger  from  your  crown, 
And  then  securely  take  the  man  you  love. 

Qu.  [Walking  aside.]     Ha!   let  me  think  of  that:— The  man  I  lovef 
140  'Tis  true,  this  murther  is  the  only  means 
That  can  secure  my  throne  to  Torrismond : 
Nay,  more,  this  execution,  done  by  Bcrtran, 
Makes  him  the  object  of  the  people's  hate. 

Bert.  [A.<iide.]     The  more  she  thinks,  'twill  work  the  stronger  in  her. 

Qu.  [Aside.]     How  eloquent  is  mischief  to  persuade! 
Few  are  so  wicked,  as  to  take  delight 


104.  ttirris]    Q(|F.      turn    '«   SsM. 

12(1.  fiiJtirr'd   them]    QlQi>F.     nuurr'd   •cm    Q;?Q4. 

12.">.  thr  rhnir]    thr   quire  QqF.      a  choir  SsM. 

131.  awl  Qui-',     o  SsM. 


348  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

In  crimes  unprofitable,  nor  do  I: 
If  then  I  break  divine  and  human  laws, 
No  bribe  but  love  could  gain  so  bad  a  cause. 
150        Bert.     You  answer  nothing! 

Qu.  'Tis  of  deep  concernment, 

And  I  a  woman,  ignorant  and  weak: 
I  leave  it  all  to  you;  think,  what  you  do, 
You  do  for  him  I  love. 

Bert.   [Aside.]  For  him   she  loves? 

She  nam'd  not  me;  that  may  be  Torrisniond, 
Whom  she  has  thrice  in  private  seen  this  day; 
Then  I  am  fairly  caught  in  my  own  snare. 

I'll  think  again. Madam,  it  shall  be  done. 

And  mine  be  all  the  blame.  [Exit. 

Qu.     O  that  it  were!     I  would  not  do  this  crime, 
160  And  yet,  like  Heav'n,  permit  it  to  be  done. 
The  priesthood  grossly  cheat  us  with  free  will: 

Will  to  do  what,  but  what  Heaven  first  decreed? 
Our  actions  then  are  neither  good  nor  ill. 

Since  from  eternal  causes  they  proceed; 
Our  passions,  fear  and  anger,  love  and  hate. 
Mere  senseless  engines  that  are  mov'd  by  fate; 
Like  ships  on  stormy  seas,  without  a  guide, 
Toss'd  by  the  winds,  and  driven  by  the  tide. 

Enter  Torrismond. 

Tor.     Am  I  not  rudely  bold,  and  press  too  often 
170  Into  your  presence,  madam?     If  I  am 

Qu.     No  more,  lest  1  should  chide  you  for  your  stay: 
Where  have  you  been?  and  how  could  you  suppose 
That  I  could  live  these  two  long  hours  without  you? 

Tor.     O  words,  to  charm  an  angel  from  his  orb! 
Welcome,  as  kindly  showers  to  long-parch'd  earth! 
But  I  have  been  in  such  a   dismal  place. 
Where  joy  ne'er  enters,  which  the  sun  ne'er  cheers, 
Bound  in  with  darkness,  overspread  with  damps; 
Where  I  have  seen  (if  I  could  say  I  saw) 
180  The  good  old  king,  majestic  in  his  bonds, 

And,  'midst  his  griefs,  most  venerably  great : 

By  a  dim  winking  lamp,  which  feebly  broke 

The  gloomy  vapors,  he  lay  stretch'd  along 

Upon  the  unwholesome  earth,  his  eyes  fix'd  upward; 

And  ever  and  anon  a  silent  tear 

Stole  down,  and  trickled  from  his  hoary  beard. 

Qu.     O  heaven,  what  have  I  done!     My  gentle  love. 
Here  end  thy  sad  discourse,  and,   for  my  sake, 
Cast  off  these  fearful  melancholy  thoughts. 

161.     cheat]    Q1Q2F.     cheats  Q3Q4. 


ACT  III,  SCENE  III  349 

190        Tor.    My  heart  is  withcr'd  at  that  piteous  sight, 
As  early  blossoms  are  with  eastern  blasts: 
He  sent  for  me,  and,  while  I  rais'd  his  head, 
He  threw  his  aged  arms  about  my  neck; 
And,  seeing  that  I  wopt,  he  press'd  me  close: 
So,  leaning  check  to  cheek,  and  eyes  to  eyes, 
We  mingled  tears  in  a  dumb  scene  of  sorrow. 

Qu.     Forbear;  you  knov/  not  how  you  wound  my  soul. 

Tor.     Can  you  have  grief,  and  not  have  pity  too? 
He  told  me,  when  my  father  did  return, 
200  He  had  a  wondrous  secret  to  disclose: 

He  kiss'd  me,  bless'd  me,  nay,  he  call'd  me  son; 
He  prais'd  my  courage;  pray'd  for  my  success: 
He  was  so  true  a  father  of  his  country, 
To  thank  me  for  defending  ev'n  his  foes, 
Because  they  were  his  subjects. 

^M.  If  they  be. 

Then  what  am  I? 

Tor.     The  sovereign  of  my  soul,  my  earthly  heaven. 

Qu.     And  not  your  queen? 

Tor.  You  are  so  beautiful. 

So  wondrous  fair,  you  justify  rebellion ; 
210  As  if  that  faultless  face  could  make  no  sin, 
But  heaven,  with  looking  on  it,  must  forgive. 

Qu.     The  king  must  die,  he  must,  my  Torrismond, 
Tho'  pity  softly  plead  within  my  soul; 
Yet  he  must  die,  that  I  may  make  you  great, 
And  give  a  crown  in  dowry  with  my  love. 

Tor.     Perish  that  crown — on  any  head  but  yours! 

0,  recollect  your  thoughts! 

Shake  not  his  hourglass,  when  his  hasty  sand 
Is  ebbing  to  the  last: 
220  A  little  longer,  yet  a  little  longer, 

And  nature  drops  him  down,  without  your  sin; 
Like  mellow  fruit,  without  a  winter  storm. 

^M.     Let  me  but  do  this  one  injustice  more. 
His  doom  is  past ;  and,  for  your  sake,  he  dies. 

Tor.     Would  you,  for  me,  have  done  so  ill  an  act, 
And  will  not  do  a  good  one! 

Now,  by  your  joys  on  earth,  your  hopes  in  heaven, 
O  spare  this  great,  this  good,  this  aged  king; 
And  spare  your  soul  the  crime! 

Q^-  The  crime's  not  mine; 

230  Twas  first  propos'd,  and  must  be  done,  by  Bertran, 
Fed  with  false  hopes  to  gain  my  crown  and  me; 

1,  to  inhanco  his  ruin,  gave  no  leave, 

But  barely  bade  him  think,  and  then  resolve. 

Tor.     In  not  forbidding,  you  command  the  crime : 
Think,  timely  think,  on  the  last  dreadful  dav, 


350  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

How  will  you  treniblo,  tliorc  to  stand  expos'd, 
And  foremost,  in  the  rank  of  guilty  ghosts, 
That  must  be  doom'd  for  murther!   think  on  murther: 
That  troop  is  plac'd  apart  from  common  crimes; 
240  The  danin'd  themselves  start  wide,  and  shun  that  band, 
As  far  more  black  and  more  forlorn  then  they. 

Qu.     'Tis  terrible!     It  shakes,  it  staggers  me; 
I  knew  this  truth,  but  I  repell'd  that  thought. 
Sure  there  is  none  but  fears  a  future  state; 
And,  when  the  most  obdurate  swear  they  do  not. 
Their  trembling  hearts  belie  their  boasting  tongues. 

Enter  Teresa. 

Send  speedily  to  Bertran;  charge  him  strictly 
Not  to  proceed,  but  wait  my  farther  pleasure. 

Ter.     Madam,  he  sends  to  tell  you,  'tis  perform'd.  [Exit 

250        ■^'^^'     "^^^  thousand  plagues  consume  him!    Furies  drag  him! 
Fiends  tear  him!     Blasted  be  the  arm  that  strook, 
The  tongue  that  order'd ! — only  she  be  spar'd. 
That  hinder'd  not  the  deed!     O  where  was  then 
The  power  that  guards  the  sacred  lives  of  kings? 
Why  slept  the  lightning  and  the  thunderbolts, 
Or  beat  their  idle  rage  on  fields  and  trees. 
When  vengeance  call'd  'em  here? 

Qu.  Sleep  that  thought  too; 

'Tis  done,  and,  since  'tis  done,  'tis  past  recall; 
And,  since  'tis  past  recall,  must  be  forgotten. 
260         Tor.     O,  never,  never  shall  it  be  forgotten! 
High  heaven  will  not  forget  it;  after- ages 
Shall  with  a  fearful  curse  remember  ours; 
And  blood  shall  never  leave  the  nation  more! 

Qu.     His  body  shall  be  royally  interr'd. 
And  the  last  funeral  pomps  adorn  his  hearse; 
I  will  myself   (as  I  have  cause  too  just) 
Be  the  chief  mourner  at  his  obsequies; 
And  yearly  fix  on  the  revolving  day 
The  solemn  marks  of  mourning,  to  atone 
270  And  expiate  my  offenses. 

Tor.  Nothing  can. 

But  bloody  vengeance  on  that  traitor's  head, — 
Which,  dear,  departed  spirit,  here  I  vow. 

Qu.     Here  end  our  sorroAvs,  and  begin  our  joys: 
Love  calls,  my  Torrismond;  tho'  hate  has  rag'd, 
And  rul'd  the  day,  yet  love  will  rule  the  night. 
The  spiteful  stars  have  shed  their  venom  down. 

And  now  the  peaceful  planets  take  their  turn. 

, . „ , ^ 

251.     strook]   QqF.     struck  SsM. 

250.     must]    Q1Q2F.     't  must  0SQ4.  '      . 

270.     offenses]   QqF.     offence  SsM,  Injuring  the  rdeter. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  351 

This  deed  of  Bertran's  has  rcmov'd  all  fears, 

And  giv'n  me  just  occasion  to  refuse  Mm. 
280  What  hinders  now  but  that  the  holy  priest 

In  secret  join  our  mutual  vows?  and  then 

This  night,  this  happy  night,  is  yours  and  mine. 

Tor.     Be  still,  my  sorrows;  and  be  loud,  my  joys. 

Fly  to  the  utmost  circles  of  the  sea. 

Thou  furious  tempest,  that  hast  toss'd  my  mind, 

And  leave  no  thought  but  Leonora  there. — 

What's  this  I  feel,  aboding  in  my  soul. 

As  if  this  day  were  fatal?     Be  it  so; 

Fate  shall  but  have  the  leavings  of  my  love: 
290  My  joys  are  gloomy,  but  withal  are  great. 

The  lion,  the'  he  see  the  toils  are  set. 

Yet,  pinch'd  with  raging  hunger,  scours  away, 

Hunts  in  the  face  of  danger  all  the  day; 

At  night,  with  sullen  pleasure,  grumbles  o'er  his  prey.  J  {Exeunt. 


..} 


ACT  IV 
SCENE  I. — Before  Gomes  his  Door. 

Enter  Lorenzo,  Dominic,  and  two  Soldiers  at  a  distance. 

Bom.  I'll  not  wag  an  ace  farther:  the  whole  world  shall  not  bribe 
me  to  it;  for  my  conscience  will  digest  these  gross  enormities  no  longer. 

Lor.  How,  thy  conscience  not  digest  'em!  There's  ne'er  a  friar  in 
Spain  can  show  a  conscience  that  comes  near  it  for  digestion.  It 
digested  pimping,  when  I  sent  thee  with  my  letter;  and  it  digested 
perjury,  when  thou  swor'st  thou  didst  not  know  me:  I'm  sure  it  hag 
digested  me  fifty  pound  of  as  hard  gold  as  is  in  all  Barbary.  Pr'ythee, 
why  shouldst  thou  discourage  fornication,  when  thou  knowest  thou  lovest 
a  sweet  young  girl? 
10  Dom.  Away,  away;  I  do  not  love  'em; — faugh;  no — [Spits.'] — I  do 
not  love  a  pretty  girl you  are  so  waggish! [Spits  again. 

Lor.     Why,  thy  mouth  waters  at  the  very  mention  of  them. 

Bom.  You  take  a  mighty  pleasure  in  defamation,  colonel;  but  I 
Monder  what  you  find  in  running  restless  up  and  down,  breaking  your 
brains,  emptying  your  purse,  and  wearing  out  your  body  with  hunting 
after  unlawful  game. 

Lor.     Why,  there's  the  satisfaction  on  't. 

Bom.  This  incontinency  may  proceed  to  adultery,  and  adultery  to 
murther,  and  murther  to  hanging;  and  there's  the  satisfaction  on  't. 

2S7.      nhnrliug]    QqF.     a  hodiny  SsM. 

28!>.      but  /Kue]   giQ2F.     have  but  Q3Q4. 

291.     see]    QqF.     hccx   SsM. 

S.     TTifj-e  '8]  QqF.     T/icre  ».s  SsM.  

7.     pound]   Qq.     pouuda  FSsM. 


352  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

20        Lor.     I'll  not  hang  alone,  friar:    I'm  resolv'd  to  peach  thee  before 
thy  superiors  for  what  thou  hast  done  already. 

Dom.  I'm  resolv'd  to  forswear  it,  if  you  do.  Let  me  advise  you 
better,  colonel,  then  to  accuse  a  churchman  to  a  churchman:  in  the 
common  cause  we  are  all  of  a  piece;  we  hang  together. 

Lor.  [Aside.'\    If  you  don't,  it  were  no  matter  if  you  did. 

Bom.     Nay,  if  you  talk  of  peaching,  I'll  peach  first,  and  see  whose 

oath    will    be    believ'd;    I'll    trounce    you    for    offering    to    corrupt    my 

honesty,  and  bribe  my  conscience:  you  shall  be  summon'd  by  an  host  of 

paritors;    you   shall   be   sentenc'd   in    the   spiritual   court;   you   shall   be 

30  excommunicated;   you   shall   be   outlaw'd; and 

[Here  Lorenzo  talces  a  purse,  and  plays  with  it,  and  at  last  lets 
the  purse  fall  chinl^ing  on  the  ground,  which  the  Friar  eyes. 
[In  another  tone.]  I  say,  a  man  might  do  this  now,  if  he  were  maliciously 
dispos'd,  and  had  a  mind  to  bring  matters  to  extremity:  but,  considering 
that  you  are  my  friend,  a  person  of  honor,  and  a  worthy  good  charitable 
man,  I  would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  then  disoblige  you. 

[Lorenzo  talces  up  the  purse,  and  pours  it  into  the  Friar's  sleeve. 
Nay,  good  sir;  nay,  dear  colonel;  O  Lord,  sir,  what  are  you  doing  now! 
I  profess  this  must  not  be:  without  this  I  would  have  serv'd  you  to  the 
uttermost;  pray,  command  me.  A  jealous,  foul-mouth'd  rogue  this 
Gomez  is;  I  saw  how  he  us'd  you,  and  you  mark'd  how  he  us'd  me  too. 
O,  he's  a  bitter  man;  but  we'll  join  our  forces;  ah,  shall  we,  colonel? 
40  we'll  be  reveng'd  on  him  with  a  witness. 

Lor.  But  how  shall  I  send  her  word  to  be  ready  at  the  door?  for  I 
must  reveal  it  in  confession  to  you  that  I  mean  to  carry  her  away  this 
evening,  by  the  help  of  these  two  soldiers.  I  know  Gomez  suspects  you, 
and  you  will  hardly  gain  admittance. 

Dom.  Let  me  alone;  I  fear  him  not.  I  am  arm'd  with  the  authority 
of  my  clothing:  yonder  I  see  him  keeping  sentry  at  his  door.  Have  you 
never  seen  a  citizen,  in  a  cold  morning,  clapping  his  sides,  and  walking 
forward  and  backward  a  mighty  pace  before  his  shop?  But  I'll  gain 
the  pass  in  spite  of  his  suspicion;  stand  you  aside,  and  do  but  mark 
50  how  I  accost  him. 

Lor.     If  he  meet  with  a  repulse,  we  must  throw  off  the  fox's  skin, 
and  put  on  the  lion's.     Com.e,  gentlemen,  you'll  stand  by  me? 
Sol.     Do  not  doubt  us,  colonel. 

[They  retire  all  three  to  a  corner  of  the  stage;  Dominic 
goes  to  the  door  where  Gomez  stands. 
Dom.     Good  even,  Gomez;  how  does  your  wife? 

Gom.  Just  as  you  would  have  her;  thinking  on  nothing  but  her  dear 
colonel,  and  conspiring  cuckoldom  against  me. 

Dom.     I  dare  say,  you  wrong  her;   she  is   employing  her  thoughts 
how  to  cure  you  of  your  jealousy. 
Gom.     Yes,  by  certainty. 
60        Dom.     By  your  leave,  Gomez;  I  have  some  spiritual  ad^^ce  to  impart 
to  her  on  that  subject. 

55.     j/ou  would]   QqF.     you'd  SsM. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  353 

Gom.  You  may  spare  your  instructions,  if  you  please,  father;  she 
has  no  farther  need  of  them. 

Doyn.     How,  no  need  of  them!     Do  you  speak  in  riddles? 

Gom.  Since  you  will  have  me  speak  plainer, — she  has  profited  so 
well  already  by  your  counsel  that  she  can  say  her  lesson  without  your 
teaching.     Do  you  understand  me  now? 

Dom.     I  must  not  neglect  my  duty,  for  all  that;  once  again,  Gomez, 
by  your  leave. 
70        Gom.     She's  a  little  indispos'd  at  present,  and  it  will  not  be  con- 
venient to  disturb  her. 

[Dominic  ofers  to  go  hy  liim,  but  t'  other  stands  before  him,. 

Dom.  Indispos'd,  say  you?  0,  it  is  upon  those  occasions  that  a 
confessor  is  most  necessary;  I  think  it  was  my  good  angel  that  sent  me 
hither  so  opportunely. 

Gom.  Aye,  whose  good  angels  sent  you  hither,  that  you  best  know, 
father. 

Dom.     A  word  or  two  of  devotion  will  do  her  no  harm,  I'm  sure. 

Gom.     A  little  sleep  will  do  her  more   good,  I'm  sure.     You  know, 
she  disburthen'd  her  conscience  but  this  morning  to  you. 
SO        Dom.     But,  if  she  be  ill  this  afternoon,  she  may  have  new  occasion 
to  confess. 

Gom.  Indeed,  as  you  order  matters  with  the  colonel,  she  may  have 
occasion  of  confessing  herself  every  hour. 

Dom.     Pray,  how  long  has  she  been  sick? 

Gom.  Lord,  you  will  force  a  man  to  speak:  why,  ever  since  youi 
last  defeat. 

Dom.  This  can  be  but  some  light  indisposition;  it  will  not  last,  and 
I  may  see  her. 

Gom.     How,  not  last!     I  say,  it  will  last,  and  it  shall  last;  she  shall 
90  be  sick  these  seven  or  eight  days,  and  perhaps  longer,  as  I  see  occasion. 
What?     I  know  the  mind  of  her  sickness  a  little  better  then  you  do. 

Dom.     I  find,  then,  I  must  bring  a  doctor. 

Gom.  And  he'll  bring  an  apothecary,  with  a  chargeable  long  bill  of 
ana's:  those  of  my  family  have  the  grace  to  die  cheaper.  In  a  word. 
Sir  Dominic,  we  understand  one  another's  business  here:  I  am  resolv'd 
to  stand  like  the  Swiss  of  my  own  family,  to  defend  the  entrance;  you 
may  mumble  over  your  pater  nosters,  if  you  please,  and  try  if  you  can 
make  my  doors  fly  open,  and  batter  down  my  walls  with  bell,  book,  and 
candle;  but  I  am  not  of  opinion  that  you  are  holy  enough  to  commit 
100  miracles. 

Dom.     Men  of  my  order  are  not  to  be  treated  after  this  manner. 

Gom.  I  would  treat  the  Pope  and  all  his  cardinals  in  the  same 
manner,  if  they  oflfer'd  to  see  my  wife  without  my  leave. 

Dom.  I  excommunicate  thee  from  the  Church,  if  thou  dost  not  open; 
there's  promulgation  coming  out. 

Gom.  And  I  excommunicate  you  from  my  wife,  if  you  go  to  that : 
there's   promulgation    for   promulgation,   and   bull    for   bull ;    and   so    I 

71.     [f  other]    QqF.     [the  other]    SsM. 
87.     light]    QqF.     slight    SsM. 


354  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

leave  you  to  recreate  yourself  with  the  end  of  an  old  song :    "And  sorrow 
came  to  the  old  friar."  [Exit. 

Lorenzo  comes  to  him, 

110  Lor.  I  will  not  ask  you  your  success;  for  I  overheard  part  of  it, 
and  saw  the  conclusion.  I  find  we  are  now  put  upon  our  last  trump; 
the  fox  is  earth'd,  but  I  shall  send  my  two  terriers  in  after  him. 

Sold.     I  warrant  you,  colonel,  we'll  unkennel  him. 

Lor.  And  make  what  haste  you  can  to  bring  out  the  lady.  What 
say  you,  father?    Burglary  is  but  a  venial  sin  among  soldiers. 

Dom.  I  shall  absolve  them,  because  he  is  an  enemy  of  the  Church. — 
There  is  a  proverb,  I  confess,  which  says  that  dead  men  tell  no  tales; 
but  let  your  soldiers  apply  it  at  their  own  perils. 

Lor.     What,  take  away  a  man's  wife,  and  kill  him  too?    The  wicked- 
120  ness  of  this  old  villain  startles  me,  and  gives  me  a  twinge  for  my  own 
sin,  tho'  it  come  far  short  of  his.     Hark  you,  soldiers,  be  sure  you  use 
as  little  violence  to  him  as  is  possible. 

Dom.  Hold  a  little;  I  have  thought  better  how  to  secure  him,  wdth 
less  danger  to  us. 

Lor.     O  miracle,  the  friar  is  grown  conscientious! 

Dom.  The  old  king,  you  know,  is  just  murther'd,  and  the  persons 
that  did  it  are  unknown;  let  the  soldiers  seize  him  for  one  of  the 
assassinates,  and  let  me  alone  to  accuse  him  afterwards. 

Lor.     I  cry  thee  mercy  with  all  m.y  heart,  for  suspecting  a  friar  of 
130  the  least  good  nature;  what,  would  you  accuse  him  wrongfully? 

Dom.  I  must  confess,  'tis  wrongful,  quoad  hoc,  as  to  the  fact  itself; 
but  'tis  rightful,  quoad  hunc,  as  to  this  heretical  rogue,  whom  we  must 
dispatch.  He  has  rail'd  against  the  Church,  which  is  a  fouler  crime  than 
the  murther  of  a  thousand  kings.  Omne  majus  continet  in  se  minus: 
he  that  is  an  enemy  to  the  Church,  is  an  enemy  unto  heaven;  and  he 
that  is  an  enemy  to  heaven  would  have  kill  M  the  king  if  he  had  been 
in  the  circumstances  of  doing  it;   so  it  is  not  wrongful  to  accuse  him. 

Lor.     I  never  knew  a  churchman,  if  he  were  personally  offended,  but 

he  would  bring  in  heaven  by  hook  or  crook  into  his  quarrel.     Soldiers, 

140  do  as  you  were  first  order'd.  {Exeunt  Soldiers. 

Dom.  What  was  't  you  order'd  'em?  Are  you  sure  it's  safe,  and 
not  scandalous? 

Lor.  Somewhat  near  your  own  design,  but  not  altogether  so  mis- 
chievous. The  people  are  infinitely  discontented,  as  they  have  reason ; 
and  mutinies  there  are,  or  will  be,  against  the  queen:  now  I  am  content 
to  put  him  thus  far  into  the  plot,  that  he  should  be  secur'd  as  a  traitor; 
but  he  shall  only  be  prisoner  at  the  soldiers'  quarters;  and  when  I  am 
out  of  reach,  he  shall  be  releas'd. 

Dom.     And  what  will  become  of  me  then?  for  when  he  is  free,  he 
150  will  infallibly  accuse  me. 

110.     ask  you  your]  Q1Q2F.     ask  y«ur  QSQ4, 

121.     cornel   QqF-     comes  SsM. 

139.     or  crook]   Q1Q2F.     or  by  crook  Q3Q4.    ' 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  355 

Lor.  Why  then,  father,  you  must  have  recourse  to  your  infallible 
church  remedies;  lie  impudently  and  swear  devoutly,  and,  as  you  told 
me  but  now,  let  him  try  whose  oath  will  be  first  believ'd.  Retire,  I  hear 
'em  coming.  [They  withdraw. 

Enter  the  Soldiers,  with  Gomez  struggling  o,i  their  backs. 

Gom.  Help,  good  Christians!  help,  neighbors!  my  house  is  broken 
open  by  force,  and  I  am  ravish'd,  and  am  like  to  be  assassinated! 
What  do  you  mean,  villains?  \\ill  you  carry  me  away,  like  a  pedler's 
pack,  upon  your  backs?  will  you  murther  a  man  in  plain  daylight? 

1  Soldier.     No;  but  we'll  secure  you  for  a  traitor,  and  for  being  in 
160  a  plot  against  the  State. 

Gom.  Who,  I  in  a  plot!  O  Lord!  O  Lord!  I  never  durst  be  in  a 
plot.  Why,  how  can  you  in  conscience  suspect  a  rich  citizen  of  so  much 
wit  as  to  make  a  plotter?  There  are  none  but  poor  rogues,  and  those 
that  can't  live  without  it,  that  are  in  plots. 

2  Soldier.     Away  with  him,  away  with  him. 

Gom.  O  my  gold!  my  wife!  my  wife!  my  gold!  As  I  hope  to  be 
sav'd  now,  I  know  no  more  of  the  plot  than  they  that  made  it. 

[They  carry  him  of,  and  exeunt. 

Lor.     Thus  far  have  we  sail'd  with  a  merry  gale,  and  now  we  have 

the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  in  sight;  the  trade  wind  is  our  own,  if  we  can 

170  but  double  it.     [He  looks  out. — Aside.]  Ah,  my  father  and  Pedro  stand 

at  the  corner  of  the  street  with  company;   there's  no  stirring  till  they 

are  past! 

Enter  Elvira  with  a  casket. 

Eh.     Am  I  come  at  last  into  your  arms? 

Lor.  Fear  nothing;  the  adventure's  ended,  and  the  knight  may 
carry  off  the  lady  safely. 

Elv.  I'm  so  overjoy'd,  I  can  scarce  believe  I  am  at  liberty;  but 
stand  panting,  like  a  bird  that  has  often  beaten  her  wings  in  vain 
against  her  cage,  and  at  last  dares  hardly  venture  out,  tho'  she  sees  it 
open. 
180  Dom.  Lose  no  time,  but  make  haste  while  the  way  is  free  for  you; 
and  thereupon  I  give  you  my  benediction. 

Lor.  'Tis  not  so  free  as  you  suppose;  for  there's  an  old  gentleman 
of  my  acquaintance  that  blocks  up  the  passage  at  the  corner  of  the 
street. 

Dom.  What  have  you  gotten  there  under  your  arm,  daughter? 
Somewhat,  I  hope,  that  will  bear  your  charges  in  your  pilgrimage. 

Lor.     The  friar  has  an  hawk's  eye  to  gold  and  jewels. 

Elv.     Here's  that  will  make  you  dance  without  a  fiddle,  and  provide 

better  entertainment  for  us  then  hedges  in  summer,  and  barns  in  winter. 

190  Here's   the  very   heart,  and    soul,   and    life-blood   of   Gomez;    pawns   in 


l')C).      <iin    like]    QqF.      SsM  omit   am. 

187.     an]   QqF.     a   SsM. 

190.     life-blood]   Q1Q2F.     life  and   blood  Q3Q4. 


356  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

abundance,  okl  gold  of  widows,  and  new  gold  of  prodigals,  and  pearls 
and  diamonds  of  court  ladies,  till  the  next  bribe  helps  their  husbands  to 
redeem    'em. 

Bom.  They  are  the  spoils  of  the  wicked,  and  the  Church  endows  you 
with  'em. 

Lor.  And,  faith,  we'll  drink  the  Church's  health  out  of  them.  But 
all  this  while  I  stand  on  thorns.  Pr'ythee,  dear,  look  out,  and  see  if  the 
coast  be  free  for  our  escape;  for  I  dare  not  peep,  for  fear  of  being 
known. 

[Elvira  goes  to  loolc,  and  Gomez  comes  running 
in  upon  her:  she  shrieks  out. 

200        Gom.     Thanks  to  my  stars,  I  have  recover'd  my  own  territories. — 
What  do  I  see?     I'm  ruin'd!     I'm  undone!     I'm  betray 'd! 

Dom.   [Aside.]    What  a  hopeful  enterprise  is  here  spoil'd! 

Gom.  O,  colonel,  are  you  there?  and  you,  friar?  nay,  then  I  find  how 
the  world  goes. 

Lor.  Cheer  up,  man,  thou  art  out  of  jeopardy;  I  hoard  thee  crying 
out  just  now,  and  came  running  in  full  speed,  with  the  wings  of  an 
eagle,  and  the  feet  of  a  tiger,  to  thy  rescue. 

Gom.     Aye,  you  are  always  at  hand  to  do  me  a  courtesy,  with  your 
eagle's  feet,  and  your  tiger's  wings.   And  what  were  you  here  for,  friar? 
210        Dom.     To  interpose  my  spiritual  authority  in  your  behalf. 

Gom.     And  why  did  you  shriek  out,  gentlewoman? 

Elv.     "Twas  for  joy  at  your  return. 

Gom.     And  that  casket  under  your  arm,  for  what  end  and  purpose? 

Elv.     Only  to  preserve  it  from  the  thieves. 

Gom.     And  you  came  running  out  of  doors 

Elv.     Only  to  meet  you,  sweet  husband. 

Gom.  A  fine  evidence  summ'd  up  among  you;  thank  you  heartily; 
you  are  all  my  friends.  The  colonel  was  walking  by  accidentally,  and 
hearing  my  voice,  came  in  to  save  me;  the  friar,  v.ho  was  hobbling  the 
220  same  way  too,  accidentally  again,  and  not  knowing  of  the  colonel,  I 
warrant  you,  he  comes  in  to  pray  for  me;  and  my  faithful  wife  runs 
out  of  doors  to  meet  me,  with  all  my  jewels  under  her  arm,  and  shrieks 
out  for  joy  at  my  return.  But  if  my  father-in-law  had  not  met  your 
soldiers,  colonel,  and  deliver  'd  me  in  the  nick,  I  should  neither  have 
found  a  friend  nor  a  friar  here,  and  might  have  shriek 'd  out  for  joy 
myself,  for  the  loss  of  my  jewels  and  my  wife. 

Do7n.     Art  thou  an  infidel?     Wilt  thou  not  believe  us? 

Gom.     Such  churchmen  as  you  would  make  any  man  an  infidel.     Get 
you  into  your  kennel,  gentlewoman ;   I  shall  thank  you  within-doors  for 
230  your  safe  custody  of  my  jewels  and  your  own. 

[He  thrusts  his  wife  off  the  stage. 
As  for  you,  Colonel  Huffcap,  we  shall  try  before  a  civil  magistrate,  who  's 
the  greater  plotter  of  us  two,  I  against  the  State,  or  you  against  the 
petticoat. 

Lor.     Nay,  if  you  will  complain,  you  shall  for  something. 

[Beats  him. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  357 

Gom.  Murther,  murther!  I  give  up  the  ghost!  I  am  destroy'd! 
Help,  murther,  murther! 

Dom.     Away,   colonel;    let   us   fly   for   our   lives:    the   neighbors   are 
coming   out   with    forks  and   fire-shovels   and   spits   and    other   domestic 
weapons;  the  militia  of  a  whole  alley  is  rais'd  against  us. 
240         Lor.     This  is  but  the  interest  of  my  debt,  master  usurer;  the  prin- 
cipal shall  be  paid  you  at  our  next  meeting. 

Dom.  Ah,  if  your  soldiers  had  but  dispatch'd  him,  his  tongue  had 
been  laid  asleep,  colonel;  but  this  comes  of  not  following  good  counsel; 
ah [Exeunt  Lorenzo  and  Friar  severally. 

Gom.  I'll  be  reveng'd  of  him,  if  I  dare;  but  he's  such  a  terrible 
fellow  that  my  mind  misgives  me ;  I  shall  tremble  when  I  have  him 
before  the  judge.  Ail  my  misfortunes  come  together.  I  have  been 
robb'd,  and  cuckolded,  and  ravish'd,  and  beaten,  in  one  quarter  of  an 
hour;  my  poor  limbs  smart,  and  my  poor  head  aches:  aye,  do,  do,  smart 
250  limb,  ache  head,  and  sprout  horns;  but  I"ll  be  hang'd  before  I'll  pity 
you.  You  must  needs  be  married,  must  ye?  There's  for  that — [Beats 
his  own  head] — And  to  a  fine  young,  modish  lady,  must  ye?  There's  for 
that  too;  and,  at  threescore,  you  old,  doting  cuckold!  Take  that  remem- 
brance.  A  fine  time  of  day  for  a  man  to  be  bound  prentice,  when  he 

is  past  using  of  his  trade;  to  set  up  an  equipage  of  noise,  when  he  has 
most  need  of  quiet;  instead  of  her  being  under  covert-baron,  to  be  under 
covert-feme  myself;  to  have  my  body  disabled,  and  my  head  fortified; 
and  lastly,  to  be  crowded  into  a  narrow  box  with  a  shrill  treble, 

That  with  one  blast  thro'  the  whole  house  does  bound, 
260        And  first  taught  speaking  trumpets  how  to  sound.  [Exit. 

SCENE   U.—The  Court. 
Enter  Raymond,  Alphonso,  Pedro. 

Raym.     Are  these,  are  these,  ye  powers,  the  promis'd  joys, 
With  which  I  flatter'd  my  long,  tedious  absence. 
To  find,  at  my  return,  my  master  murther'd? 
O  that  I  could  but  weep,  to  vent  my  passion ! 
But  this  dry  sorrow  burns  up  all  my  tears. 

Alph.     Mourn  inward,  brother;   'tis  observ'd  at  court 
Who  weeps,  and  who  wears  black;  and  your  return 
Will  fix  all  eyes  on  every  act  of  yours, 
To  see  how  you  resent  King  Sancho's  death. 
10        Kaym.     What  generous  man  can  live  with  that  constraint 
Upon  his  soul,  to  bear,  much  less  to  flatter, 
A  court  like  this!     Can  I  soothe  tj'ranny? 
Seem  pleas'd  to  see  my  royal  master  murther'd, 
His  crown  usurp'd,  a  distaff  in  the  throne, 
A  council  made  of  such  as  dare  not  speak, 
And  could  not,  if  they  durst;  whence  honest  men 

TA't.      I   am]    QIK.      I'm    Q2Qr',(H. 
iJ5H.      int<)\    QIQ'-'F.      in   (i'.'AiA. 


358  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

Banish  themselves,  for  shame  of  being  there: 
A  government  that,  knowing  not  true  wisdom. 
Is  scorn'd  abroad,  and  lives  on  tricks  at  home? 
20        Alph.     Virtue  must  be  thrown  off;   'tis  a  coarse  garment, 
Too  heavy  for  the  sunshine  of  a  court. 

Eaym.     Well  then,  I  will  dissemble,  for  an  end 
So  great,  so  pious,  as  a  just  revenge: 
You'll  join  with  me? 

Alph.  No  honest  man  but  must. 

Fed.     What  title  has  this  queen,  but  lawless  force? 
And  force  must  pull  her  down. 

Alph.     Truth  is,  I  pity  Leonora's  case; 
Forc'd,  for  her  safety,  to  commit  a  crime, 
Which  most  her  soul  abhors. 
30        Eaym.     All  she  has  done,  or  e'er  can  do,  of  good, 
This  one  black  deed  has  damn'd. 

Fed.     You'll  hardly  gain  your  son  to  our  desigii. 

Eaym.     Your  reason  for  't? 

Fed.  I  want  time  to  unriddle  it: 

Put  on  your  t'other  face,  the  queen  approaches. 

Enter  the  Queen,  Bertran,  and  Attendants. 

Eaym.     And  that  accursed  Bertran 
Stalks  close  behind  her,  like  a  witch's  fiend. 
Pressing  to  be  employ'd ;  stand,  and  observe  them. 

Qu.  [To  Bert.]    Buried  in  private,  and  so  suddenly! 
It  crosses  my  design,  which  was  t'  allow 
40  The  rites  of  funeral  fitting  his  degree. 
With  all  the  pomp  of  mourning. 

Bert.  It  was  not  safe: 

Objects  of  pity,  when  the  cause  is  new. 
Would  work  too  fiercely  on  the  giddy  crowd : 
Had  Cassar's  body  never  been  expos'd, 
Brutus  had  gain'd  his  cause. 

Qu.  Then,  was  he  lov'd? 

Bert.     0,  never  man   so  much,  for  saintlike  goodness. 

Fed.  [Aside.}    Had  bad  men  fear'd  him,  but  as  good  men  lov'd  him, 
He  had  not  yet  been  sainted. 

Qu.     I  wonder  how  the  people  bear  his  death. 
50        Bert.     Some  discontent  there  are;  some  idle  murmurs. 

Fed.     How,  idle  murmurs!     Let  me  plainly  speak: 
The  doors  are  all  shut  up;  the  wealthier  sort. 
With  arms  across,  and  hats  upon  their  eyes, 
Walk  to  and  fro  before  their  silent  shops; 

21.     court]    Q8Q4  here  add: 

Yet  I  have  seen  even  there  an  honest  man. 

That  is,  as  honest  as  a  court  can  hear; 

For  courtiers  are  to  be  accounted  good, 

When  they  arc  not  the  last  and  worst  of  men. 
^^.     r  allow]    QqF.      to   allow   SsM. 
50.     discontent  Ql.      discontents  Q2Q3Q4FRsM. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  It  359 

Whole  droves  of  lenders  crowd  the  bankers'  doors 
To  call  in  money;  those  who  have  none  mark 
Where  money  goes;  for,  when  they  rise,  'tis  plunder: 
The  rabble  gather  round  the  man  of  news, 
And  listen  with  their  mouths; 
60  Some  tell,  some  hear,  some  judge  of  news,  some  make  it; 
And  he,  who  lies  most  loud,  is  most  believ'd. 
Qu.     This  may  be  dangerous. 

Raym.  [Aside.]  Pray  heaven  it  may! 

Bert.     If  one  of  you  must  fall, 
Self-preservation  is  the  first  of  laws; 
And  if,  -when  subjects  are  oppress'd  by  kings, 
They  justify  rebellion  by  that  law, 
As  well  may  monarchs  turn  the  edge  of  right 
To  cut  for  them,  when  self-defense  requires  it. 
Qu.     You  place  such  arbitrary  power  in  kings, 
70  That  I  much  fear,  if  I  should  make  you  one, 
You'll  make  yourself  a  tyrant;  let  these  know 
By  what  authority  you  did  this  act. 

Bert.     You  much  surprise  me,  to  demand  that  question: 
But,  since  truth  must  be  told,  'twas  by  your  own. 

Qu.     Produce  it;  or,  by  heaven,  your  head  shall  answer 
The  forfeit  of  your  tongue. 

Eaym.  [Aside.]  Brave  mischief  towards. 

Bert.     You  bade  me. 
Qu.  When,  and  where? 

Bert.     No,  I  confess,  you  bade  me  not  in  words; 
The  dial  spoke  not,  but  it  made  shrcwil  signs, 
80  And  pointed  full  upon  the  stroke  of  murther: 
Yet  this  you  said. 

You  were  a  woman,  ignorant  and  weak, 
So  left  it  to  my  care. 

Qu.  What,  if  I  said 

I  was  a  woman,  ignorant  and  weak. 
Were  you  to  take  th'  advantage  of  my  sex, 
Anl  play  the  devil  to  tempt  me?     You  contriv'd, 
You  urg'd,  you  drove  me  headlong  to  your  toils; 
And  if,  much  tir'd,  and  frighted  more,  I  paus'd, 
Were  you  to  make  my  doubts  your  own  commission? 
90        Bert.     This  'tis  to  serve  a  prince  too  faithfully; 
Who,  free  from  laws  himself,  will  have  that  done. 
Which,  not  perform'd,  brings  us  to  sure  disgrace; 
And,  if  perform'd,  to  ruin. 

Qu.     Tliis  'tis,  to  counsel  things  that  are  unjust; 
First,  to  debauch  a  king  to  break  his  laws 
(Which  are  his  safety),  and  then  seek  protection 
From  him  you  have  cndangcr'd;  but  just  Heaven, 
When  sins  are  judg'd,  will  damn  the  tempting  devil 
More  deep  than  those  he  tempted. 


360  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

100        Bert.     If  princes  not  protect  their  ministers, 
What  man  will  dare  to  serve  them? 

Qu.  None  will  dara 

To  serve  them  ill,  when  they  are  left  to  laws; 
But,  when  a  counselor,  to  save  himself, 
Would  lay  miscarriages  upon  his  prince, 
Exposing  him  to  public  rage  and  hate; 
O,  'tis  an  act  as  infamously  base. 
As,  should  a  common  soldier  skulk  behind 
And  thrust  his  general  in  the  front  of  war: 
It  shews  he  only  serv'd  himself  before, 
110  And  had  no  sense  of  honor,  country,  king. 
But  center'd  on  himself,  and  us'd  his  master 
As  guardians  do  their  wards,  with  shows  of  care, 
But  with  intent  to  sell  the  public  safety. 
And  pocket  up  his  prince. 

Fed.   [Aside.]  Well  said,  i'  faith; 

This  speech  is  e'en  too  good  for  an  usurper. 

Bert.     I  see  for  whom  I  must  be  sacrific'd; 
And,  had  I  not  been  sotted  with  my  zeal, 
I  might  have  found  it  sooner. 

Qm.  From  my  sight! 

The  prince  who  bears  an  insolence  like  this 
120  Is  such  an  image  of  the  powers  above 
As  is  the  statue  of  the  thund'ring  god. 
Whose  bolts  the  boys  may  play  with. 

Bert.  Unreveng  M 

I  will  not  fall,  nor  single.  [Exit  cum  suis. 

Qu.  [To  Raymond,  who  kisses  her  hand.]    Welcome    welcome! 
I  saw  you  not  before;  one  honest  lord 
Is  hid  with  ease  among  a  crowd  of  courtiers. 
How  can  I  be  too  grateful  to  the  father 
Of  such  a  son  as  Torrismond? 

Eaym.     His  actions  were  but  duty. 

Qu.  Yet,  my  lord, 

All  have  not  paid  that  debt  like  noble  Torrismond; 
130  You  hear  how  Bertran  brands  me  with  a  crime, 
Of  which,  your  son  can  witness,  I  am  free. 
I  sent  to  stop  the  murther,  but  too  late; 
For  crimes  are  swift,  but  penitence  is  slow: 
The  bloody  Bertran,  diligent  in  ill. 
Flew  to  prevent  the  soft  returns  of  pity. 

Eaym.     O  cursed  haste,  of  making  sure  a  sin! 
Can  you  forgive  the  traitor? 

Qn.  Never,  never: 

'Tis  written  here  in  characters  so  deep. 

That  seven  years  hence   (till  then  should  I  not  meet  him), 
140  And  in  the  temple  then,  I'll  drag  him  thence, 
Ev'n  from  the  holv  altar  to  the  block. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  361 

Raym.  [Aside.'\    She's  fir'd,  as  I  would  wish  her;  aid  me,  Justice, 
As  all  my  ends  are  thine,  to  gain  this  point, 
Ana  ruin  both  at  once. —  [To  her.]   It  wounds,  indeed. 
To  bear  affronts  too  great  to  be  forgiven. 
And  not  liave  power  to  punish;  yet  one  way 
There  is  to  ruin  Bertran. 

Qu.  O,  there's  none; 

Except  an  host  from  heaven  can  make  such  haste 
To  save  my  crown  as  he  will  do  to  seize  it. 
150  You  saw,  he  came  surrounded  with  his  friends, 
And  knew,  besides,  our  army  was  remov'd 
To  quarters  too  remote  for  sudden  use. 

Maym.     Yet  you  may  give  commission 
To  some  bold  man,  whose  loyalty  you  trust, 
And  let  him  raise  the  train-bands  of  the  city. 

Qu.     Gross  feeders,  lion  talkers,  lamblike  fighters. 

Raym.     You  do  not  know  the  virtues  of  your  city, 
What  pushing  force  they  have;  some  popular  chief. 
More  noisy  than  the  rest,  but  cries  "Halloo," 
160  And,  in  a  trice,  the  bellowing  herd  come  out; 
The  gates  are  barr'd,  the  ways  are  barricudoed, 
And  ' '  One  and  all ' '   's  the  word ;  true  cocks  of  th '  game, 
That  never  ask  for  what,  or  whom,  they  fight ; 
But  turn  'em  out,  and  shew  'em  but  a  foe. 
Cry  ' '  Liberty !  ' '  and  that 's  a  cause  of  quarrel. 

Qu.     There  may  be  danger  in  that  boist'rous  rout: 
Who  knows,  when  fires  are  kindled  for  my  foes, 
But  some  new  blast  of  wind  may  turn  those  flames 
Against  my  palace  walls? 

Raym.  But   still   their  chief 

170  Must  be  some  one  whose  loyalty  you  trust. 

Qu.     And  wlio  more  proper  for  that  trust  t'nen  you, 
Whose  interests,  tho'  unknown  to  you,  are  mine? 
Alphonso,  Pedro,  haste  to  raise  the  rabble; 
He  shall  appear  to  head  'em. 

Raym.  [Asid«  to  Alph.  atid  Ped.]    First  seize  Bertran, 
And  then  insinuate  to  them,  that  I  bring 
Their  lawful  prince  to  place  upon  the  throne. 

Alph.     Our  lawful  prince! 

Raym.     Fear  not;  I  can  produce  him. 

Fed.    [To  Alph.]  Now  wc  want 

Your  son  Lorenzo:   what  a  mighty  faction 
180  Would  he  make  for  us  of  the  city  wives, 

With:   "O  dear  husband,  my  sweet  honey  husband, 

162.     of  th'  oame]  QqF.     o'  the  game  SsM. 

173.     Alphonso]    QIF.      In   Q2Q:{Q4   this  word  bpcomes  a  speech-heading. 
178,  179.     Now     .     .     .     fiiiHon]     The  te.xt  follows  y3Q4.     Tho  words  are 
arranged  as  one  line  in  CJl(j21•'^^sM,  to  the  detriment  of  the   meter. 


362  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

Won't  you  be  for  the  colonel?    If  you  love  me, 

Be  for  the  colonel;  O  he's  the  finest  man!"       [Exeunt  Alphonso,  Pedro. 

Eaym.  [Aside.]    So,  now  we  have  a  plot  behind  the  plot. 
She  thinks,  she's  in  the  depth  of  my  design. 
And  that  it  's  all  for  her;  but  time  shall  show 
She  only  lives  to  help  me  ruin  others, 
And  last,  to  fall  herself. 

Qu.     Now,  to  you,  Raymond:  can  you  guess  no  reason 
190  Why  I  repose  such  confidence  in  you? 
You  needs  must  think 

There's  some  more  powerful  cause  then  loyalty: 
Will  you  not  speak,  to  save  a  lady's  blush? 
Must  I  inform  you,    'tis  for  Torrismond 
That  all  this  grace  is  shown? 

Eaym.  [Aside.]    By  all  the  powers,  worse,  worse  then  what  I  fear'd! 

Qu.     And  yet,  what  need  I  blush  at  such  a  choice? 
I  love  a  man  whom  I  am  proud  to  love. 
And  am  well  pleas'd  my  inclination  gives 
200  What  gratitude  would  force.     O  pardon  me; 
I  ne  'er  was  covetous  of  wealth  before, 
Yet  think  so  vast  a  treasure  as  your  son 
Too  great  for  any  private  man's  possession; 
And  him  too  rich  a  jewel,  to  be  set 
In  vulgar  metal,  or  for  vulgar  use. 

Eaym.     Arm  me  with  patience,  heaven! 

Qu-  How,  patience,  Raymond? 

What  exercise  of  patience  have  you  here? 
What  find  you  in  my  crown  to  be  contemn'd; 
Or  in  my  person  loath'd?     Have  I,  a  queen, 
210  Pass'd  by  my  fellow-rulers  of  the  world. 

Whose  vying  crowns  lay  glittering  in  my  way. 
As  if  the  world  were  pav'd  with  diadems? 
Have  I  refus'd  their  blood,  to  mix  with  yours, 
And  raise  new  kings  from  so  obscure  a  race 
Fate  scarce  knew  where  to  find  them,  when  I  call'd? 
Have  I  heap'd  on  my  person,  crown,  and  state, 
To  load  the  scale,  and  weigh'd  myself  with  earth. 
For  you  to  spurn  the  balance? 

Eaym.     Bate  the  last,  and  'tis  what  I  would  say: 
220  Can  I,  can  any  loyal  subject,  see 

With  patience,  such  a  stoop  from  sovereignty. 

An  ocean  pour'd  upon  a  narrow  brook? 

My  zeal  for  you  m.ust  lay  the  father  by. 

And  plead  my  country's  cause  against  my  son. 

What  tho'  his  heart  be  great,  his  actions  gallant. 


186.     it  's]  QqF.     't  is  SsM. 
194.     2/w.s/]    QqF.      Jiceil   SsM. 
198.     u-}wm]    Q1Q2F.      nho  Q3Q4. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  363 

He  wants  a  crown  to  poise  against  a  crown, 

Birth  to  match  birth,  and  power  to  balance  power. 
Qu.     All  these  1  have,  and  these  I  can  bestow; 

But  he  brings  worth  and  virtue  to  my  bed; 
230  And  virtue  is  the  wealth  which  tyrants  want: 

I  stand  in  need  of  one  Mhose  glories  may 

Eedeeni  my  crimes,  ally  me  to  his  fame, 

Dispel  the  factions  of  my  foes  on  earth, 

Disarm  the  justice  of  the  powers  above. 

Eaym.     The  people  never  will  endure  this  choice. 
Qu.     If  I  endure  it,  what  imports  it  you? 

Go,  raise  the  ministers  of  my  revenge. 

Guide  with  your  breath  this  whirling  tempest  round, 

And  see  its  fury  fall  where  I  design. 
240  At  last  a  time  for  just  revenge  is  given; 

Revenge,  the  darling  attribute  of  heaven: 

But  nuin,  unlike  his  Maker,  bears  too  long; 

Still  more  expos'd,  the  more  he  pardons  wrong; 

Great  in  forgiving,  and   in  suffering  brave; 

To  be  a  saint,  he  makes  himself  a  slave.  [Exit  Queen. 

Eaym.  [tioliis.]    Marriage  with  Torrisinond!  it  must  not  be, 

By  heaven,  it  must  not  be!   or,  if  it  be, 

Law,  justice,  honor,  bid  farewell  to  earth. 

For  heaven  leaves  all  to  tyrants. 

Enter  Torrismond,  tr/to  kneels  to  him. 

250        Tor.     O,  ever  welcome,  sir! 

iiut  doubly  now!     You  come  in  such  a  time. 

As  if  propitious  fortune  took  a  care 

To  swell  my  tide  of  joys  to  their  full  height, 

And  leave  me  nothing  farther  to  desire. 

Eaym.     I  hope,  1  come  in  time,  if  not  to  mabe, 

At  least  to  save  your  fortune  and  your  honor. 

Take  heed  you  steer  your  vessel  right,  my  son; 

This  calm  of  heaven,  this  mernuiid's  melody, 

Into  an  unseen  whirlpool  draws  you  fast, 
260  And,  in  a  moment,  sinks  you. 

Tor.  Fortune  cannot, 

And  fate  can  scarce;   I've  made  the  port  already, 

And  laugh  securely  at  the  lazy  storm 

That  wanted  wings  to  reach  me  in  the  deep. 

Your  pardon,  sir;  my  duty  calls  me  hence; 

I  go  to  find  my  queen,  my  earthly  go<ldess. 

To  whom  1  owe  my  hopes,  my  life,  my  love. 

Eaym.     You  owe  her  more,  perhaps,  than  you  imagine; 

Stay,  I  command  you  stay,  and  hear  me  first. 

This  hour's  the  very  crisis  of  your  fate; 
270  Your  good  or  ill,  your  infamy  or  fame, 


364  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

And  all  the  color  of  your  life,  depends 
On  this  important  now. 

Tor.  I  see  no  danger; 

The  city,  army,  court,  espouse  my  cause, 
And,  more  then  all,  the  queen,  with  public  favor, 
Indulges  my  pretensions  to  her  love. 

Raym.     Nay,  if  possessing  her  can  make  you  happy, 
'Tis  granted,  nothing  hinders  your  design. 

Tor.     If  she  can  make  me  blest?     She  only  can; 
Empire,  and  wealth,  and  all  she  brings  beside, 
280  Are  but  the  train  and  trappings  of  her  love: 
The  sweetest,  kindest,  truest  of  her  sex, 
In  whose  possession  years  roll  round  on  years. 
And  joys,  in  circles,  meet  new  joys  again; 
Kisses,  embraces,  languishing,  and  death. 
Still  from  each  other  to  each  other  move. 
To  crown  the  various  seasons  of  our  love; — 
And  doubt  you  if  such  love  can  make  me  happy? 

Eaym.     Yes;  for  I  think  you  love  your  honor  more. 

Tor.     And  what  can  shock  my  honor  in  a  queen? 
290        Eaym.     A  tyrant,  an  usurper? 

Tor.  Grant  she  be; 

When  from  the  conqueror  we  hold  our  lives, 
We  yield  ourselves  his  subjects  from  that  hour; 
For  mutual  benefits  make  mutual  ties. 

Eaym.     Why,  can  you  think  I  owe  a  thief  my  life, 
Because  he  took  it  not  by  lawless  force? 
What  if  he  did  not  all  the  ill  he  could? 
Am  I  oblig'd  by  that  t'  assist  his  rapines, 
And  to  maintain  his  murthers? 

Tor.     Not  to  maintain,  but  bear  'em  unreveng'd. 
300  Kings'  titles  commonly  begin  by  force, 

Which  time  wears  off,  and  mellows  into  right; 
So  power,  which  in  one  age  is  tyranny. 
Is  ripen 'd  in  the  next  to  true  succession: 
She's  in  possession. 

Eaym.  So  diseases  are : 

Should  not  a  ling'ring  fever  be  remov'd, 
Because  it  long  has  rag'd  within  my  blood? 
Do  I  rebel,  when  1  would  thrust  it  out? 
What,  shall  I  think  the  world  was  made  for  one, 
And  men  are  born  for  kings,  as  beasts  for  men, 
310  Not  for  protection,  but  to  be  devour'd? 
Mark  those  who  dote  on  arbitrary  power, 
And  you  shall  find  'em  either  hot-brain'd  youth, 
Or  needy  bankrupts,  servile  in  their  greatness, 
And  slaves  to  some,  to  lord  it  o'er  the  rest. 

297.     V  assist]    QqF.      to  assist   SsM. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  365 

0  baseness,  to  support  a  tyrant  throne, 

And  crush  your  freeborn  brethren  of  the  world! 
Nay,  to  become  a  part  of  usurpation; 
To  espouse  the  tyrant's  person  and  her  crimes, 
And,  on  a  tyrant,  get  a  race  of  tyrants, 
320  To  be  your  country's  curse  in  after  ages. 

Tor.     I  see  no  crime  in  her  whom  I  adore, 
Or,  if  I  do,  her  beauty  makes  it  none: 
Look  on  me  as  a  man  abandon'd  o'er 
To  an  eternal  lethargy  of  love; 
To  pull,  and  pinch,  and  wound  me,  cannot  cure. 
And  but  disturb  the  quiet  of  my  deatli. 

Bay  in.     O  virtue,  virtue!   what  art  thou  become. 
That  men  should  leave  thee  for  that  toy,  a  woman, 
Made  from  the  dross  and  refuse  of  a  man! 
330  Heaven  took  him  sleeping  when  he  made  her  too; 
Had  man  been  waking,  he  had  ne'er  consented. 
Now,  son,  suppose 

Some  brave  conspiracy  were  ready  form'd, 
To  punish  tyrants,  and  redeem  the  land, 
Could  you  so  far  belie  your  country's  hope. 
As  not  to  head  the  party? 

2'or.     How  could  my  hand  rebel  against  my  heart? 

Eaym.     How  could  your  heart  rebel  against  your  reason? 

Tor.     No  honor  bids  me  fight  against  myself; 
340  The  royal  family  is  all  extinct, 

And  she  who  reigns  bestows  her  crown  on  me : 

So  must  I  be  ungrateful  to  the  living. 

To  be  but  vainly  pious  to  the  dead. 

While  you  defraud  your  offspring  of  their  fate. 

Eaym.     Mark  who  defraud  their  offspring,  you  or  I? 
For  know,  there  yet  survives  the  lawful  heir 
Of  Sancho's  blood,  whom  when  I  shall  produce, 
I  rest  assur'd  to  see  you  pale  with  fear, 
And  trembling  at  his  name. 
■^^         Tor.     He  must  be  more  then  man,  who  makes  me  tremble. 

1  dare  him  to  the  field,  with  all  the  odds 
Of  justice  on  his  side,  against  my  tyrant: 
Produce  your  lawful  prince,  and  you  shall  see 
How  brave  a  rebel  love  has  made  your  son. 

Eaym.     Read  that;  'tis  with  the  royal  signet  sign'd. 
And  given  me  by  the  king,  when  time  should  serve, 
To  be  perus'd  by  you. 

Tor.  YEcads.]    "I,  the  King. 
My  youngest  and  alone  surviving  son, 
Reported  dead,  t'  escape  rebellious  rage, 
3gQ  Til!  hnppior  times  shall  call  his  courage  forth, 

328.      men]    Q.-jF.     man   S.sM, 


366  THE  SPANISH  FKIAE 

To  break  my  fetters,  or  revenge  my  fate, 
I  will  that  Raymond  educate  as  his, 

And  call  him  Torrismond " 

If  I  am  he,  that  son,  that  Torrismond, 
The  world  contains  not  so  forlorn  a  wretch! 
Let  never  man  believe  he  can  be  happy! 
For,  when  I  thought  my  fortune  most  secure. 
One  fatal  moment  tears  me  from  my  joys; 
And  when  two  hearts  were  join'd  by  mutual  love, 
370  The  sword  of  justice  cuts  upon  the  knot, 
And  severs  'em  for  ever. 

Eaym.  True,  it  must. 

Tor.     O  cruel  man,  to  tell  me  that  it  must! 
If  you  have  any  pity  in  your  breast. 
Redeem  me  from  this  labyrinth  of  fate, 
And  plunge  me  in  my  first  obscurity. 
The  secret  is  alone  between  us  two ; 
And  tho'  you  would  not  hide  me  from  myself, 

0  yet  be  kind,  conceal  me  from  the  world. 
And  be  my  father  still! 

380        Eaym.     Your  lot's  too  glorious,  and  the  proof's  too  plain. 
Now,  in  the  name  of  honor,  sir,  I  beg  you, 
(Since  1  must  use  authority  no  more,) 
On  these  old  knees,  I  beg  you,  ere  I  die. 
That  I  may  see  your  father's  death  reveng"d. 

Tor.     Why,  'tis  the  only  business  of  my  life; 
My  order's  issued  to  recall  the  army, 
And  Bertran's  death  resolv'd. 

Eaym.     And  not  the  queen's?     O,  she"s  the  chief  offender! 
Shall  justice  turn  her  edge  within  your  hand? 
390  No,  if  she  scape,  you  are  yourself  the  tyrant. 
And  murtherer  of  your  father. 

Tor.  Cruel    fates! 

To  what  have  you  reservd  me? 

Eaym.  Why  that  sigh? 

Tor.     Since  you  must  know,— but  break,  O  break,  my  heart. 
Before  I  tell  my  fatal  story  out!  — 
Th'  usurper  of  my  throne,  my  house's  ruin! 
The  murtherer  of  my  father,  is  my  wife! 

Eaym.     O  horror,  horror!      After  this  alliance. 
Let  tigers  match  with  hinds,  and  wolves  with  sheep, 
And  every  creature  couple  with  his  foe. 
400  How  vainly  man  designs,  when  heaven  opposes! 

1  bred  you  up  to  arms,  rais'd  you  to  power. 
Permitted  you  to  fight  for  this  usurper, 
Indeed  to  save  a  crown,  not  hers,  but  yours. 
All  to  make  sure  the  vengeance  of  this  day, 


387.     death]    QqF.      death's   SsM. 

398,     ivolves]  Q3Q4.     wolfa  QIF.     woolvea  Q2, 


ACT  V,  SCENE  I  367 

Which  even  this  day  has  ruin  'd.     One  more  question 

Let  me  but  ask,  and  I  have  done  for  ever: 

Do  you  yet  love  the  cause  of  all  your  woes, 

Or  is  she  grown   (as  sure  she  ought  to  be) 

More  odious  to  your  sight  than  toads  and  adders? 
410         Tor.     O  there's  the  utmost  malice  of  my  fate, 

That  I  am  bound  to  hate,  and  born  to  love! 

Raym.     No  more! — Farewell,  my  much-lamented  king! 

[Aside.]  I  dare  not  trust  him  with  himself  so  far, 

To  own  him  to  the  people  as  their  king. 

Before  their  rage  has  finish  'd  my  designs 

On  Bertran  and  the  queen;  but  in  despite, 

Ev'n  of  himself,  I'll  save  him.  [Exit. 

Tor.     'Tis  but  a  moment  since  I  have  been  king. 

And  weary  on  't  already;  I'm  a  lover, 
420  And  lov'd,  possess:  yet  all  these  make  mo  wretched. 

And  heav'n  has  giv'n  me  blessings  for  a  curse. 

With  what  a  load  of  vengeance  am  I  prcss'd, 

Yet,  never,  never,  can  I  hope  for  rest ; 

For  when  my  heavy  burthen  I  remove. 

The  weight  falls  down,  and  crushes  her  I  love.  [Exit. 

ACT  V 

SCENE  l.—A  Bedchamber. 

Enter  Torrismond. 

Tor.     Lovfc,  justice,  nature,  pity,  and  revenge, 
Have  kindled  up  a  wildfire  in  my  breast, 
And  I  am  all  a  civil  war  within! 

Enter  Queen  and  Teresa,  at  a  distance. 

My  Leonora  there! 

Mine!   is  she  mine?  my  father's  murtherer  mine? 

0  that  1  could,  with  honor,  love  her  more. 

Or  hate  her  less,  with  reason!     See,  she  weeps! 
Thinks  me  unkind,  or  false,  and  knows  not  why 

1  thus  estrange  my  person  from  her  bed! 

10  Shall  I  not  tell  her? — No;   'twill  break  her  heart; 

She'll  know  too  soon  her  own  and  my  misfortunes.  [Exit. 

Qu.     He's  gone,  and  I  am  lost;   didst  thou  not  see 
His  sullen  eyes?  how  gloomily  they  glanc'd? 
He  look 'd  not  like  the  Torrismond  I  lov'd. 

Ter.     Can  you  not  guess  from  whence  this  change  proceeds! 

Qu.     No:   there's  the  grief,  Teresa:    O,  Teresa! 
Fain  would  I  tell  thee  what  I  feel  within. 
But  shame  and  modesty  have  tied  my  tongue! 
Yet,  I  will  tell,  that  thou  may  'st  weep  with  me. — 


368  THE  SPANISH  FRIAK 

20  How  tlear,  how  sweet  his  first  embraces  were! 
With  what  a  zeal  he  join'd  liis  lips  to  mine! 
And  suck'd  my  breath  at  every  word  I  spoke, 
As  if  he  drew  his  inspiration  thence : 
While  both  our  souls  came  upward  to  our  mouths, 
As  neighboring  monarchs  at  their  borders  meet ; 
I  thought — O,  no;   "tis  false!    I  could  not  think; 
'Twas  neither  life  nor  death,  but  both  in  one. 

Ter.     Then,  sure  his  transports  were  not  less  than  yours. 

Qu.     More,  more!   for,  by  the  high-hung  tapers'  light, 
30  I  could  discern  his  cheeks  were  glowing  red, 
His  very  eyeballs  trembled  with  his  love, 
And  sparkled  thro'  their  casements  humid  fires; 
He  sigh'd,  and  kiss'd;  breath 'd  short,  and  would  have  spoke, 
But  was  too  fierce  to  throw  away  the  time; 
All  he  could  say  was  "love"'  and  '"Leonora."' 

Ter.     How,  then,  can  you  suspect  him  lost  so  soon? 

Qu.     Last  night  he  flew  not  with  a  bridegroom"s  haste, 
Which  eagerly  prevents  the  pointed  hour: 
I  told  the  clocks,  and  watch'd  the  wasting  light, 
40  And  listen'd  to  each  softly-treading  step. 
In  hope  'twas  he;   biit  still  it  was  not  he. 
At  last  he  came,  but  with  such  alter'd  looks, 
So  wild,  so  ghastly,  as  if  some  ghost  had  met  him: 
All  pale  and  speechless,  he  survey'd  me  round; 
Then,  with  a  groan,  he  threw  himself  abed, 
But  far  from  me,  as  far  as  he  could  move, 
And  sigh'd,  and  toss'd,  and  turn'd,  but  still  from  me. 

Ter.     What,  all  the  night? 

^w-  Even  all  the  livelong  night. 

At  last,   (for,  blushing,  I  must  tell  thee  all,) 
50  I  press'd  his  hand,  and  laid  me  by  his  side; 

He  pull'd  it  back,  as  if  he  touch'd  a  serpent. 

With  that  I  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, 

And  ask'd  him  how  I  had  offended  him. 

He  answer 'd  nothing,  but  with  sighs  and  groans; 

So,  restless,  pass'd  the  night;  and,  at  the  dawn. 

Leapt  from  the  bed  and  vanish'd. 

Ter.  Sighs  and  groans, 

Paleness  and  trembling,  all  are  signs  of  love; 

He  only  fears  to  make  you  share  his  sorrows. 

Qu.     I  wish  'twere  so;   but  love  still  doubts  the  worst; 
60  My  heavy  heart,  the  prophetess  of  woes. 

Forebodes  some  ill  at  hand:  to  soothe  my  sadness. 

Sing  me  the  song  which  poor  Olympia  made 

When  false  Bircno  left  her. — 


■28.      vot  less]   Q1Q2F.     vn  Inta  0.304. 

:12.     casemciitx']    OqF.     casmiciifx   Ss.     casements'  M, 

38.     pointed]   QqF.     appointed  SsM, 


ACT  V,  SCENE  I  369 

A  SONG 

I. 
Farewell,  migrate  fid  traitor! 

Farewell,  my  perjur'd  swain! 
Let  never  injur'd  creature 

Believe  a  mart  again. 
The  pleasure  of  possessing 
Surpasses  all  expressing, 
jQ  But  'tis  too  short  a  blessing. 

And  love  too  long  a  pain. 

II. 
'Tis  easy  to  deceive  us, 

In  pity  of  your  pain; 
But  when  we  love,  you  leave  us, 

To  rail  at  you  in  vairi. 
Before  we  have  descried  it, 
There  is  no  bliss  beside  it; 
But  she,  that  once  has  tried  it, 

Wi'd  never  love  again. 

III. 
IQ  The  passion  you  pretended, 

Was  only  to  obtain; 
But  when  the  charm  is  ended. 

The  charmer  you  disdain. 
Tour  love  by  ours  we  measure. 
Till  we  have  lost  our  treasure; 
But  dying  is  a  pleasure. 
When  living  is  a  pain. 

Be'enter  Torrismond. 

Tor.     Still  she  is  here,  and  still  I  cannot  speak; 
But  wander,  like  some  discontented  ghost 
90  That  oft  appears,  Ijiit  is  forbid  to  talk.  [Going  again. 

Qu.     O  Torrismond,  if  you  resolve  my  death. 
You  need  no  more  but  to  go  hence  again : 
Will  you  not  speak? 

Tor.  I  cannot. 

Qu.  Speak!  0  speak! 

Your  anger  would  be  kinder  than  your  silence. 

Tor.     O! 

Qu.  Do  not  sigh,  or  tell   me  why  you  sigh. 

Tor.     Why  do  I  live,  ye  powers? 

Qu.     Why  do  I  live  to  hear  you  speak  that  wonl  ? 
Some  black-mouth'd  villain  has  dcfam'd  my  virtue. 

[A    SONG]    Q<iF.      Ss.M   omit   A. 


370  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

Tor.     No,  no!     Pray  let  me  go. 

Qu.  [Kneeling.^  You  shall  not  go! 

100  By  all  the  pleasures  of  our  nuptial  bed, 
If  ever  I  was  lov 'd,  tho'  now  I'm  not, 
By  these  true  tears,  which,  from  my  wounded  heart, 
Bleed  at  my  eyes 

Tor.  Eise!  • 

Qu,.  I  will  never  rise; 

I  cannot  choose  a  better  place  to  die. 

Tor.     O!  I  would  speak,  but  cannot. 

Qu.  [Rising.^    Guilt  keeps  you  silent,  then;  you  love  nio  not: 
What  have  I  done,  ye  powers,  what  have  I  done? 
To  see  my  youth,  my  beauty,  and  my  love. 
No  sooner  gain  'd,  but  slighted  and  betray  'd ; 
110  And,  like  a  rose,  just  gather 'd  from  the  stalk, 
But  only  smelt,  and  cheaply  thrown  aside. 
To  wither  on  the  ground. 

Tcr.     For  heaven's  sake,  madam,   moderate  your  passion! 

Qu.     "Why  nam  'st  thou  heav  'n  ?  there  is  no  heaven  for  me. 
Despair,  death,  hell,  have  seiz'd  my  tortur'd  soul! 
When  I  had  rais'd  his  groveling  fate  from  ground 
To  pow  'r  and  love,  to  empire  and  to  me ; 
When  each  embrace  was  dearer  than  the  first ; 
Then,  then  to  be  contemn'd;  then,  then  thrown  off! 
120  It  calls  me  old,  and  wither'd,  and  deform'd, 

And  loathsome !     O !  what  woman  can  bear  ' '  loathsome ' '  ? 

The  turtle  flies  not  from  his  billing  mate. 

He  bills  the  closer;  but  ungrateful  man. 

Base,  barbarous  man,  the  more  we  raise  our  love. 

The  more  we  pall,  and  cool,  and  kill  his  ardor. 

Racks,  poison,  daggers,  rid  me  but  of  life; 

And  any  death  is  welcome. 

Tor.     Be  witness,  all  ye  powers  that  know  my  heart, 
I  would  have  kept  the  fatal  secret  hid ; 
130  But  she  has  conquer 'd,  to  her  ruin  conquer 'd: 
Here,  take  this  paper,  read  our  destinies; 
Yet  do  not;  but,  in  kindness  to  yourself. 
Be  ignorantly  safe. 

Qu.  No!   give  it  me, 

Even  tho'  it  be  the  sentence  of  my  death. 

Tor.     Then  see  how  much  unhappy  love  has  made  us. 
O  Leonora  !    O ! 

We  two  were  born  when  sullen  planets  reign'd; 
When  each  the  other's  influence  opposM, 
And  drew  the  stars  to  factions  at  our  birth. 
140  0  better,  better  had  it  been  for  us, 

That  we  had  never  seen,  or  never  lov'd! 

125.     cool,  and  A-fH]   QqF.     kill,  and  cool  SsM, 
139.     -factions]    QqF.     faction   SsM, 


ACT  V,  SCENE  I  371 

Qu.     There  is  no  faith  in  heaven,  if  heaven  says  so; 
You  dare  not  give  it. 

Tor.  As  unwillingly, 

As  I  would  reach  out  opium  to  a  friend 

Who  lay  in  torture,  and  desir'd  to  die.  [Gives  the  paper. 

But  now  you  have  it,  spare  my  sight  the  pain 
Of  seeing  what  a  world  of  tears  it  cost  you. 
Go  silently  enjoy  your  part  of  grief, 
And  share  the  sad  inheritance  with  me. 
150         Qu.     I  have  a  thirsty  fever  in  my  soul ; 

Give  me  but  present  ease,  and  let  me  die.       [Exeunt  Queen  and  Teresa. 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Lor.     Arm,  arm,  my  lord!  the  city  bands  are  up. 
Drums  beating,  colors  flying,  shouts  confus'd; 
All  clust'ring  in  a  heap,  like  swarming  hives, 
And  rising  in  a  moment. 

Tor.  With  design 

To  punish  Bertran,  and  revenge  the  king; 
'Twas  order'd  so. 

Lor.  Then  you  're  betray  M,  my  lord. 

'Tis  true,  they  block  the  castle  kept  by  Bertran, 
But  now  they  cry:    "Down  with  the  palace,  fire  it, 
160  Pull  out  th'  usurping  queen!" 

Tor.     The  queen,  Lorenzo!   durst  they  name  the  queen? 

Lor.     If  railing  and  reproaching  be  to  name  her. 

Tor.     O  sacrilege!  say  quickly,  who  commands 
This  vile,  blaspheming  rout? 

Lor.  I'm  loth  to  tell  you; 

But  both  our  fathers  thrust  'em  headlong  on. 
And  bear  down  all  before  'em. 

Tor.  Death  and  hell! 

Somewhat  must  be  resolv'd,  and  speedily. 
How  say'st  thou,  my  Lorenzo?  dar'st  thou  be 
A  friend,  and  once  forget  thou  art  a  son, 
170  To  help  me  save  the  queen? 

Lor.  [Asidc.'\  Let  me  consider: 

Bear  arms  against  my  father?    He  begat  me; 
That's  true;   but  for  whose  sake  did  he  beget  me? 
For  his  own,  sure  enough:   for  me  he  knew  not. 
O!  but  says  Conscience:     "Fly  in  Nature's  face?" — 
But  how,  if  Nature  fly  in  my  face  first? 
Tffen  Nature's  the  aggressor;  let  her  look  to  't. — 
He  gave  me  life,  and  he  may  take  it  back: — 
No,  that's  boys'  play,  say  I.     'Tis  policy 

147.      it  C0Ht\    Q1Q2F.      'UriU  coxt   Q3Q4.      it   rosl.s   SsM. 

155.  156.     ^yith     .     .     .     kino]    Ono  lino   In  QqV  :  text  follows  SsM. 

177.  me]    Q1Q2F.      my  Q3Q4. 

178.  'Tia  policy]  QqF  SsM  place  these  words  at  the  beginning  of  the  next 
Une. 


372  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

For  son  and  father  to  take  different  sides: 
180  For  then,  lands  and  tenements  commit  no  treason. 

[To  Tor.]  Sir,  upon  mature  consideration,  I  have  found  my  father  to 
be  little  better  than  a  rebel,  and  therefore,  I'll  do  my  best  to  secure 
hira.  for  your  sake;  in  hope,  you  may  secure  him  hereafter  for  my  sake. 

Tor.     Put  on  thy  utmost  speed  to  head  the  troops, 
Which  every  moment  I  expect  t'  arrive; 
Proclaim  me,  as  I  am,  the  lawful  king: 
I  need  not  caution  thee  for  Raymond's  life, 
Tho'  I  no  more  must  call  him  father  now. 

Lor.   [Aside.]     How!    not   call  him  father? 
190  I  see  preferment  alters  a  man  strangely; 

This  may  serve  me  for  a  use  of  instruction,  to  cast  off  my  father  when 
I  am  great.     JNIethought,  too,  he  call'd  himself  the  lawful  king;  intimat- 
ing sweetly  that  he  knows  what 's  what  with  our  sovereign  lady. 
Well,  if  I  rout  my  father,  as  I  hope 
In  heaven  I  shall,  I  am  in  a  fair  way 
To  be  a  prince  of  the  blood. 

Farewell,  general ;  I  '11  bring  up  those  that  shall  try  what  mettle  there 
is  in  orange  tawny.  [Exit. 

Tor.    [At    the    door.]     Haste,    there;    command    the    guards    be    all 
drawn  up 
200  Before  the  palace  gate. — By  heaven,  I'll  face 
This  tempest,  and  deserve  the  name  of  king! 
O  Leonora,  beauteous  in  thy  crimes, 
Never  were  hell  and  heaven  so  match'd  before! 
Look  upward,  fair,  but  as  thou  look'st  on  me; 

Then  all  the  blest  will  beg  that  thou  may  'st  live, 

And  even  my  father's  ghost  his  death  forgive.  [Exit. 

■  SCENE  II. — The  Palace  Yard.     Drums  and  Trumpets  within. 

Enter  Raymond,  Alphonso,  Pedro,  and  their  Party. 

Raym.     Now,  valiant  citizens,  the  time  is  come 
To  show  your  courage,  and  your  loyalty. 
You  have  a  prince  of  Sancho's  royal  blood, 
The  darling  of  the  heavens,  and  joy  of  earth; 
When  he's  produc'd,  as  soon  he  shall,  among  you, 
Speak,  what  will  you  adventure  to  reseat  him 
Upon  his  father's  throne? 

Omn.  Our  lives   and   fortunes. 

Raym.     What  then  remains  to  perfect  our  success. 
But  o'er  the  tyranfs  guards  to  force  our  way? 

179.     For  son^   QqF.     ^or  a  son  SsM,  spoilins  tho  meter. 

181.  Sir,  upon,  etc.]  From  here  on  SsM  print  the  speeches  of  Lorenzo 
in  this  scene  as  prose.  QqF  print  them  as  verse.  They  are  really,  as  the 
text  shows,  prose  mingled  with  a  few  lines  of  irregular  verse, 

191.     a  use]  Q1Q2F.     an  ukc  Q3Q4, 

197.     /'"]    QqF.     /   icill  SsM, 


ACT  V,  SCENE  II  373 

iQ        Omn.     Lead  on,  lead  on.         [Brums  and  Trumpets  on  the  other  side. 
Enter  TORRISMOND  and  his  Party:  as  they  are  going  to  fight,  he  speaks. 

Tor.   [To   his.]  Hold,   hold  your   arms. 

Eaym.   [To  his.]  Eetire. 

Alph.     What  means  this  pause? 

Ped.  Peace;  nature  works  within  them. 

[Tor.  and  Eaym.  go  apart. 

Tor.     How  comes  it,  good  old  man,  that  we  two  meet 
On  these  harsh  terms?     Thou  very  reverend  rebel; 
Thou  venerable  traitor,  in  whose  face 
And  hoary  hairs  treason  is  sanctified, 
And  sin's  black  dye  seems  blanch 'd  by  age  to  virtue! 

Eaym.     What  treason  is  it  to  redeem  my  king, 
And  to  reform  the  State? 

Tor.  That's  a  stale  cheat; 

The  primitive  rebel,  Lucifer,  first  us'd  it, 
20  And  was  the  first  reformer  of  the  skies. 

Eaym.     W'hat,  if  I  see  my  prince  mistake  a  poison, 
Call  it  a  cordial?     Am  I  then  a  traitor. 
Because  I  hold  his  hand,  or  break  the  glass? 

Tor.     How  dar'st  thou  serve  thy  king  against  his  will? 

Eaym.     Because   'tis  then  the  only  time  to  serve  him. 

Tor.     1  take  the  blame  of  all  upon  myself; 
Discharge  thy  weight  on  mo. 

Eaym.  0,   never,  never! 

Why,   'tis  to  leave  a  ship,  toss'd  in  a  tempest, 
Without  the  pilot's  care. 

Tor.  I  '11  punish  thee; 

30  By  heaven,  I  will,  as  I  would  punish  rebels. 
Thou  stubborn  loyal  man! 

Eaym.  First  let  me  see 

Her  punish'd,  who  misleads  you  from  your  fame; 
Then  burn  me,  hack  me,  hew  me  into  pieces. 
And  I  shall  die  well  pleas'd. 

Tor.  Proclaim   my  titl^ 

To  save  the  effusion  of  my  subjects'  blood; 
And  thou  shalt  still 

Be  as  my  foster  father,  near  my  breast, 
And  next  my  Leonora. 

Eaym.  That  word  stabs  me. 

You  shall  be  still  plain  Torrismoud  with  me; 
40  Th'  abetter,  partner   (if  you  like  that  name), 
The  husband  of  a  tyrant;  but  no  king, 
Till  you  deserve  that  title  by  your  justice. 

Tor.     Then  farewell,  pity;   I  will  be  obey'd. 
[To  the  People.]     Hear,  you  mistaken  men,  whose  loyalty 


11.      [Tor.  and  Raym.  go  apart]    QqF.     [Ai.rnoNso  and  Pedko  go  apart] 
35,  3G.     To  8aic     .     .     .     still]   One  line  in  QqF;  text  follows  SsM. 


374  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

Runs  headlong  into  treason!     See  your  prince! 
In  me  behold  your  murther'd  Sancho's  son; 
Dismiss  your  arms,  and  I  forgive  your  crimes. 

Rayvi.     Believe  him  not;  he  raves;  his  words  are  loose 
As  heaps  of  sand,  and  scattering,  wide  from  sense. 
50  You  see  he  knows  not  me,  his  natural  father; 
But,  aiming  to  possess  th'  usurping  queen, 
So  high  he's  mounted  in  his  airy  hopes. 
That  now  the  wind  is  got  into  his  head, 
And  turns  his  brains  to  frenzy. 

Tor.  Hear  me  yet: 

I  am 

Eaym.     Fall  on,  fall  on,  and  hear  him  not; 
But  spare  his  person,  for  his  father's  sake. 

Fed.     Let   me   come;    if   he  be   mad,    I   have   that   shall   cure  him. 
There's  no  surgeon  in  all  Aragon  has  so  much  dexterity  as  I  have  at 
breathing  of  the  temple  vein. 
60        Tor.     My  right  for  me! 

Saym,  Our  liberty  for  us! 

Omn.     Liberty,  liberty! 

As  they  are  ready  to  fight,  enter  Lorenzo  and  his  Party. 

Lor.     On  forfeit  of  your  lives,  lay  down  your  arms. 

Alph.     How,  rebel,  art  thou  there? 

Lor.  Take  your  rebel  back  again,  father  mine:  the  beaten  party  are 
rebels  to  the  conquerors.  I  have  been  at  hardhead  with  your  butting 
citizens;  I  have  routed  your  herd;  I  have  dispers'd  them;  and  now  they 
are  retreated  quietly,  from  their  extraordinary  vocation  of  fighting  in 
the  streets,  to  their  ordinary  vocation  of  cozening  in  their  shops. 

Tor.  [To  Raym.]    You  see  'tis  vain  contending  with  the  truth; 
70  Acknowledge  what  I  am. 

Raym.     You  are  my  king:  would  you  would  be  your  own! 
But,  by  a  fatal  fondness,  you  betray 
Your  fame  and  glory  to  th'  usurper's  bed: 
Enjoy  the  fruits  of  blood  and  parricide, 
Take  your  own  crown  from  Leonora's  gift. 
And  hug  your  father's  murtherer  in  your  arms. 

Enter  Queen  and  Teresa;  Women. 

Alph.     No  more;  behold  the  queen. 

Raym.     Behold  the  basilisk  of  Torrismond, 
That  kills  him  with  her  eyes.     I  will  speak  on; 
80  My  life  is  of  no  further  use  to  me: 

I  would  have  chaffer  'd  it  before  for  vengeance ; 
Now  let  it  go  for  failing. 

Tor.  [Aside.]    My  heart  sinks  in  me  while  I  hear  him  speak, 

54,    55.      He^r     .     .     .     am]    One    line    in    QqF  SsM. 
57.     Let  me,  etc.]    This   speech   is    printed  as   verse   in   QqF. 
64.     Take  yoiir,  etc.]   This  speech  and  the  next  by  Lorenzo  are  printed  as 
vfrse   in  OqP. 


ACT  V,  SCENE  II  375 

And  every  slacken'd  fiber  drops  its  hold, 
Like  nature  letting  down  the  springs  of  life; 
So  much  the  name  of  father  awes  me  still. 
Send  off  the  crowd; 

For  you,  now  I  have  conquer'd,  I  can  hear 
With  honor  your  demands. 
90        Lor.  [To  Alph.]    Now,  sir,  who  proves  the  traitor?     My  conscience 
is  true  to  me;  it  always  whispers  right  when  I  have  my  regiment  to 
back  it.  [Exeunt  omncs  prceter  Tor.,  Eaym.,  Leon. 

Tor.     O  Leonora,  what  can  love  do  more? 
I  have  oppos'd  your  ill  fate  to  the  utmost; 
Combatted  heaven  and  earth  to  keep  you  mine; 
And  yet  at  last  that  tyrant  Justice!    O 

Qu.     'Tis  past,  'tis  past,  and  love  is  ours  no  more; 
Yet  I  complain  not  of  the  powers  above; 
They  made  m'  a  miser's  feast  of  happiness, 
100  And  could  not  furnish  out  another  meal. 

Now,  by  yon  stars,  by  heaven,  and  earth,  and  men, 
By  all  my  foes  at  once;  I  swear,  my  Torrismond, 
That  to  have  had  you  mine  for  one  short  day, 
Has  cancel'd  half  my  mighty  sum  of  woes! 
Say  but  you  hate  me  not. 

Tor.  I  cannot  hate  you. 

Eaym.     Can  you  not?     Say  that  once  more, 
That  all  the  saints  may  witness  it  against  you. 

Qu.     Cruel  Eaymond! 
Can  he  not  punish  me,  but  he  must  hate? 
110  O,  'tis  not  justice,  but  a  brutal  rage, 

Wliich  hates  tli'  offender's  person  with  his  crimes! 
I  have  enough  to  overwhelm  one  woman. 
To  lose  a  crown  and  lover  in  a  day: 
Let  pity  lend  a  tear  when  rigor  strikes. 

Haijm.     Then,  then  you  should  have  thought  of  tears  and  pity, 
When  virtue,  majesty,  and  hoary  age. 
Pleaded  for  Sancho's  life. 

Qu.     My  future  days  shall  be  one  whole  contrition: 
A  chapel  will  I  build,  with  large  endowment, 
120  Where  every  day  an  hundred  aged  men 

Shall  all  hold  up  their  wither'd  hands  to  heaven, 
To  pardon  Sancho's  death. 

Tor.     See,  Raymond,  see;  she  makes  a  large  amends. 
Sancho  is  dead;  no  punishment  of  her 
Can  raise  his  cold  stiff  limbs  from  the  dark  grave; 


88,  89.     For     .      .      .      demands]  One  line  In  QqF. 
99.     m  'a]  QcjF.     mc  a  SsM. 
101.      bu   hdirtn]    QIQ-F-      "'i'/    heaven    Q3Q4. 

105.  Sou  but,  etc.]  This  and  the  two  following  lines  are  arrnnRed  as  In 
QqF.  SsM  mnke  one  line  of  Can  .  .  .  auintn.  No  arrangement  can 
make  roKular   meter  of  tlie  passage. 

115.     uf  tears]    Qig'2F.      on  tears   Q.'iQ4. 


376  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

Nor  can  his  blessed  soul  look  down  from  heaven, 
Or  break  th'  eternal  sabbath  of  his  rest, 
To  see  with  joy  her  miseries  on  earth. 

Raym.     Heaven  may  forgive  a  crime  to  penitence, 
130  For  heaven  can  judge  if  penitence  be  true; 

But  man,  who  knows  not  hearts,  should  make  examples, 
Which,  like  a  warning  piece,  must  be  shot  off. 
To  fright  the  rest  from  crimes. 

Qu.     Had  I  but  known  that  Sancho  was  his  father, 
I  would  have  pour'd  a  deluge  of  my  blood. 
To  save  one  drop  of  his. 

Tor.     Mark  that,  inexorable  Raymond,  mark! 
'Twas  fatal  ignorance  that  caus'd  his  death. 

Eaym.     What  if  she  did  not  know  he  was  your  father  1 
140  She  knew  he  was  a  man,  the  best  of  men; 

Heaven 's  image  double-stamp  'd,  as  man  and  king. 

Qu.     He  was,  he  was,  ev'n  more  than  you  can  say; 
But  yet 

Eaym.     But  yet  you  barbarously  murther'd  Mm. 

Qu.     He  will  not  hear  me  out! 

Tor.     Was  ever  criminal  forbid  to  plead? 
Curb  your  ill-manner  'd  zeal. 

Eaym.  Sing  to  him,  siren; 

For  I  shall  stop  my  ears.     Now  mince  the  sin. 
And  mollify  damnation  with  a  phrase; 
150  Say,  you  consented  not  to  Sancho's  death, 
But  barely  not  forbade  it. 

Qu.     Hard-hearted  man,  I  yield  my  guilty  cause; 
But  all  my  guilt  was  caus'd  by  too  much  love. 
Had  I  for  jealousy  of  empire  sought 
Good  Sancho's  death,  Sancho  had  died  before. 
'Twas  always  in  my  power  to  take  his  life; 
But  interest  never  could  my  conscience  blind. 
Till  love  had  cast  a  mist  before  my  eyes. 
And  made  me  think  his  death  the  only  means 
160  Which  could  secure  my  throne  to  Torrismond. 

Tor.     Never  was  fatal  mischief  meant  so  kind, 
For  all  she  gave  has  taken  all  away. 
Malicious  pow'rs!  is  this  to  be  restor'd? 
'Tis  to  be  worse  depos'd  than  Sancho  was. 

Eaym.     Hcav"n  has  restor'd  you,  you  depose  yourself. 
O,  when  young  kings  begin  with  scorn  of  justice. 
They  make  an  omen  to  their  after  reign, 
And  blot  their  annals  in  the  foremost  page! 

Tor.     No  more;  lest  you  be  made  the  first  example, 
170  To  show  how  I  can  punish. 

Eaym.  Once  again: 

Let  her  be  made  your  father's  sacrifice. 
And  after  make  me  hers. 


ACT  V,  SCENE  II  377 

Tor.  Condemn   a  wife! 

That  were  to  atone  for  parricide  with  murther! 

Eaym.     Then  let  her  be  divorc'd:  we'll  be  content 
With  that  poor  scanty  justice;  let  her  part. 

Tor.     Divorce!   that's  worse  than  death,  'tis  death  of  love. 

Qu.     The  sou!  and  body  part  not  with  such  pain, 
As  I  from  you;  but  yet   'tis  just,  my  lord: 
I  am  th'  accurst  of  heaven,  the  hate  of  earth, 
180  Your  subjects'  detestation,  and  your  ruin; 
And  therefore  fix  this  doom  upon  myself. 

Qu.     Yes,  I  can  wish  it,  as  the  dearest  proof. 

Tor.     Heav'n!     Can  you  wish  it?     To  be  mine  no  more! 
And  last,  that  I  can  make  you  of  my  love. 
To  leave  you  blest,  I  would  be  more  accurst 
Than  death  can  make  me;  for  death  ends  our  woes. 
And  the  kind  grave  shuts  up  the  mournful  scene: 
But  I  would  live  without  you,  to  be  wretched  long; 
And  hoard  up  every  moment  of  my  life, 
190  To  lengthen  out  the  payment  of  my  tears. 

Till  ev'n  fierce  Raymond,  at  the  last,  shall  say: 
"Now  let  her  die,  for  she  has  griev'd  enough." 

Tor.     Hear  this,  hoar  this,  thou  tribune  of  the  people! 
Thou  zealous,  public  bloodhound,  hear,  and  melt ! 

Eaym.   [Aside.']    I  could  cry  now;   my  eyes  grow  womanish, 
But  yet  my  heart  holds  out. 

Qu.     Some  solitary  cloister  will  I  choose. 
And  there  with  holy  virgins  live  immur'd : 
Coarse  my  attire,  and  short  shall  bo  my  sleep, 
200  Broke  by  the  melancholy  midnight  bell. 
Now,  Eaymond,  now  be  satisfied  at  last: 
Fasting  and  tears,  and  penitence  and  prayer. 
Shall  do  dead  Sancho  justice  every  hour. 

Eaym.  [Aside.]    By  your  leave,  manhood!  [Wipes  his  eyes. 

Tor.  He  weeps!   now  he's  vanquish 'd. 

Eaym.     No !    'Tis  a  salt  rheum  that  scalds  my  eyes. 

Qu.     If  he  were  vanquish'd,  I  am  still  unconquer'd. 
I'll  leave  you  in  the  height  of  all  my  love, 
Ev'n  when  my  heart  is  beating  out  its  way. 
And  struggles  to  you  most. 
210  Farewell,  a  last  farewell!     My  dear,  dear  lord, 

Kemember  me!     Speak,  Raymond,  will  you  let  him? 

Shall  he  remember  Leonora's  love. 

And  shed  a  parting  tear  to  her  misfortunes? 

Eaym.  [Almost  crying.]    Yes,  yea,  he  shall;  pray  go. 

182.  Can  .  .  .  itf  .  .  .  more!]  Q1Q2Q3F.  Q4  places  exclama- 
tion points  after  both  it  and  more;  SsM  place  a  comma  after  it  and  a  ques- 
tion mark  after  more. 

204.     he's]  QqF.     he  is  SsM,  making  meter  Impossible. 

208.      itn]    yiU2Q3F.      hh   Q4. 


378  THE  SPANISH  FRIAR 

Tor.     Now,  by  my  soul,  she  shall  not  go:  why,  Raymond, 
Her  every  tear  is  worth  a  father's  life. 
Come  to  my  arms,  come,  my  fair  penitent! 
Let  us  not  think  what  future  ills  may  fall, 
But  drink  deep  draughts  of  love,  and  lose  'em  all. 

[Exit  ToRRiSMOND  with  the  Queen. 
220        Eaym.     No  matter  yet,  he  has  my  hook  within  him. 
Now  let  him  frisk  and  flounce,  and  run  and  roll. 
And  think  to  break  his  hold.     He  toils  in  vain; 
This  love,  the  bait  he  gorg'd  so  greedily. 
Will  make  him  sick,  and  then  I  have  him  sure. 

Enter  Alphonso  and  Pedro. 

Alph.     Brother,  there's  news  from  Bertran;  he  desires 
Admittance  to  the  king,  and  cries  aloud 
This  day  shall  end  our  fears  of  civil  war. 
For  his  safe  conduct  he  entreats  your  presence. 
And  begs  you  would  be  speedy. 

Baym.  Tho'  I  loathe 

230  The  traitor's  sight,  I'll  go.     Attend  us  here.  [Exit. 

Enter  Gomez,  Elvira,  Dominic,  with  Officers,  to  make  the  Stage  as  full 

as  possible. 

Fed.  Why,  how  now,  Gomez?  what  mak'st  thou  here  with  a  whole 
brotherhood  of  city  bailiffs?  Why,  thou  lookest  like  Adam  in  Paradise, 
with  his  guard  of  beasts  about  him. 

Gom.  Aye,  and  a  man  had  need  of  them,  Don  Pedro;  for  here  are 
the  two  old  seducers,  a  wife  and  priest — that's  Eve  and  the  serpent — at 
my  elbow. 

Vom.     Take  notice  how  uncharitably  he  talks  of  churchmen. 

Gom.     Indeed,  you  are  a  charitable  belswagger!     My  wife  cried  out: 
' '  Fire,  fire !  ' '  and  you  brought  out  your  church  buckets,  and  call  'd  for 
240  engines  to  play  against  it. 

Alph.  I  am  sorry  you  are  come  hither  to  accuse  your  wife;  her 
education  has  been  virtuous,  her  nature  mild  and  easy. 

Gom.  Yes!  she's  easy  with  a  vengeance;  there's  a  certain  colonel 
has  found  her  so. 

Alph.     She  came  a  spotless  virgin  to  your  bed. 

Gom.  And  she's  a  spotless  virgin  still  for  me — she's  never  the  worse 
for  my  wearing,  I'll  take  my  oath  on  't.  I  have  liv'd  with  her  with  all 
the  innocence  of  a  man  of  threescore,  like  a  peaceable  bedfellow  as 
I  am. — 
250  Elv.  Indeed,  sir,  I  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  him  for  disturbing 
of  my  sleep. 

232.     lookest]    Ql.      look'st  Q2Q3Q4F  SsM. 
235.     that   '8]    Q1Q2Q3K.      that   is   Q4. 
241.     are]    QqF.     have   SsM. 


ACT  V,  SCENE  11  379 

Dom,  A  fine  commendation  you  have  given  yourself;  the  Church  did 
not  marry  you  for  that. 

Fed.     Come,  come,  your  grievances,  your  grievances. 

Dom.     Why,  noble  sir.  111  tell  you. 

Gom.  Peace,  friar!  and  let  me  speak  first.  I  am  the  plaintiff.  Sure 
you  think  you  are  in  the  pulpit,  where  you  preach  by  hours. 

Dom.     And  you  edify  by  minutes. 

Gom.     Where    you    make    doctrines    for    the    people,    and    uses    and 
260  applications  for  yourselves. 

Fed.     Gomez,  give  way  to  the  old  gentleman  in  black. 

Gom.  No;  the  t'  other  old  gentleman  in  black  shall  take  me  if  I  do; 
I  will  speak  first!  Nay,  I  will,  friar!  For  all  your  verbum  sacerdotis, 
I'll  speak  truth  in  few  words,  and  then  you  may  come  afterwards,  and 
lie  by  the  clock  as  you  use  to  do.  For,  let  me  tell  you,  gentlemen,  he 
shall  lie  and  forswear  himself  with  any  friar  in  all  Spain ;  that's  a  bold 
word  now. 

Dom.     Let  him  alone;  let  him  alone;  I  shall  fetch  him  back  with  a 
circzimbendibus,  I  warrant  him. 
270         J  Ink.     Well,  what  have  you  to  say  against  your  wife,  Gomez? 

Gom.  Why,  I  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  I  and  all  men  are  married 
for  our  sins,  and  that  our  wives  are  a  judgment;  that  a  bachelor  cobbler 
is  a  happier  man  than  a  prince  in  wedlock;  that  we  are  all  visited  with 
a  household  plague,  and  "Lord  have  mercy  upon  us"  should  be  written 
on  all  our  doors. 

Dom.  Now  he  reviles  marriage,  which  is  one  of  the  seven  blessed 
sacraments. 

Gom.  'Tis  liker  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins:  but  make  your  best 
on  't,  1  care  not;  'tis  but  binding  a  man  neck  and  heels,  for  all  that. 
280  But,  as  for  my  wife,  that  crocodile  of  Nilus,  she  has  wickedly  and 
traitorously  conspir'd  the  cuckoldom  of  me,  her  anointed  sovereign  lord; 
and,  with  the  help  of  the  aforesaid  friar,  whom  heaven  confound,  and 
w^ith  the  limbs  of  one  Colonel  Hernando,  cuckold-maker  of  this  city, 
devilishly  contriv'd  to  steal  herself  away,  and  under  her  arm  feloniously 
to  bear  one  casket  of  diamonds,  pearls,  and  other  jewels,  to  the  value 
of  30,000  pistoles.     Guilty,  or  not  guilty?     How  say'st  thou,  culprit? 

Dom.  False  and  scandalous!  Give  me  the  book.  I'll  take  my 
corporal  oath  point-blank  against  every  particular  of  this  charge. 

Elv.  And  so  will  I. 
280  Dom.  As  I  was  walking  in  the  streets,  telling  my  beads,  and  praying 
to  myself,  according  to  my  usual  custom,  I  heard  a  foul  outcry  before 
Gomez  his  portal;  and  his  wife,  my  penitent,  making  doleful  lamenta- 
tions: thereupon,  making  what  haste  my  limbs  would  suffer  me,  that 
are  crippled  with  often  kneeling,  I  saw  him  spurning  and  fisting  her 

203.  y'd!/  .  .  .  friar!  For  .  .  .  nacfrdotis.]  QqF  place  an  oxcla- 
matioD  point  after  friar,  begin  for  with  a  small  letter,  and  place  a  comma 
after  sacerdotis;  SsM  place  a  comma  after  friar  and  a  full  stop  after 
sacerdotis. 

28U.     pistf.lcs]     SsM.    pistols  QqF.      So  on  p.  :<S1>,  1.  380. 
4(/i/'.i/l   g2g:!g4K.     .suks/  gi.     Saye.it  Ss^l. 

292.     Gomez  hisl   QqF.      Uomez's   SsM. 


380  THE  SPANISH  FEIAR 

most  unmercifully;  whereupon,  using  Christian  arguments  with  him  to 
desist,  he  fell  violently  upon  me,  without  respect  to  my  sacerdotal  orders, 
push'd  me  from  him,  and  turn'd  me  about  with  a  finger  and  a  thumb, 
just  as  a  man  would  set  up  a  top.  "Mercy!"  quoth  I.  "Damme!"  quoth 
he;  and  still  continued  laboring  me,  till  a  good-minded  colonel  came  by, 
300  whom,  as  heaven  shall  save  me,  I  had  never  seen  before. 

Gom.     O  Lord!    0  Lord! 

Dom.  Aye,  and  "O  lady!  0  lady"  too!  I  redouble  my  oath,  I  had 
never  seen  liim.  Well,  this  noble  colonel,  like  a  true  gentleman,  was 
for  taking  the  weaker  part,  you  may  be  sure — whereupon  this  Gomez 
flew  upou  him  like  a  dragon,  got  him  down,  the  devil  being  strong  in 
him,  and  gave  him  bastinado  on  bastinado,  and  buffet  upon  buffet,  which 
the  poor  meek  colonel,  being  prostrate,  suffer'd  with  a  most  Christian 
patience. 

Gom.  Who?  he  meek?  I'm  sure  I  quake  at  the  very  thought  of 
310  him;  why,  he's  as  fierce  as  Rodomont ;  he  made  assault  and  battery  upon 
my  person,  beat  me  into  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow;  and  every  word 
this  abominable  priest  has  uttcr'd  is  as  false  as  the  Alcoran.  But  if 
you  want  a  thorough-pac'd  liar,  that  will  swear  thro'  thick  and  thin, 
commend  me  to  a  friar. 

Enter  Lorenzo,   who   comes   behivd   the   Company,   and   stands   at   his 
Father's  hack  unseen,  over  against  Gomez. 

Lor.  [Aside.]  How  now!  What's  here  to  do?  My  cause  a-trying,  as 
I  live,  and  that  before  my  own  father.  Now  fourscore  take  him  for  an 
old  bawdy  magistrate  that  stands  like  the  picture  of  Madam  Justice, 
with  a  pair  of  scales  in  his  hand,  to  w-eigh  lechery  by  ounces! 

Alph.     Well — but  all  this  while,  who  is  this  Colonel  Hernando? 
320         Gom.     He's  the  first  begotten  of  Beelzebub,  with  a  face  as  terrible 
as  Demogorgon.     [Lorenzo  peeps  up  over  Alphonso's  head,  and  stares 
at  Gomez.]    No!  I  lie,  I  lie.    He's  a  very  proper,  handsome  fellow!  well 
proportion'd,  and  clean  shap'd,  with  a  face  like  a  cherubin. 

Fed.     What,  backward  and  forward,  Gomez?    Dost  thou  hunt  counter? 

Alph.  Had  this  colonel  any  former  design  upon  your  wife;  for,  if 
that  be  prov'd,  you  shall  have  justice. 

Gom.  [Aside.]  Now  I  dare  speak;  let  him  look  as  dreadfully  as  he 
will.  I  say,  sir,  and  I  will  prove  it,  that  he  had  a  lewd  design  upon 
her  body,  and  attempted  to  corrupt  her  honesty.  [Lorenzo  lifts  up  his 
330  fist  clench\l  at  him.]  1  confess  my  wife  was  as  willing — as  himself; 
and,  I  believe,  'twas  she  corrupted  him;  for  I  have  known  him  formerly 
a  very  civil  and  modest  person. 

Elv.  You  see,  sir,  he  contradicts  himself  at  every  word;  he's  plainly 
mad. 

Alph.  Speak  boldly,  man!  and  say  what  Ihou  wilt  stand  by:  did  he 
strike  thee? 

299.  till]   QqF.     until  SslSI. 

306.  on]    QqF.      upon    SsM. 

313.  thorough-pac'd]    QIF.      ihyouuh-poc',!   Q2Q3Q4. 

321.  [peeps   up   over]    QqF.      [peeps   over]    SsM. 


ACT  V,  SCENE  TI  381 

Gom.  I  will  speak  boldly;  he  struck  me  on  the  face  before  my  own 
threshold,  that  the  very  walls  cried  shame  on  him. 

[Lorenzo  holds  tip  again, 

'Tis   true,    I   gave   him   provocation,    for   the  man's   as   peaceable    a 
340  gentleman  as  any  is  in  all  Spain. 

Dom.     Now  the  truth  comes  out  in  spite  of  him. 

Fed.     I  believe  the  friar  has  bcMitch'd  him. 

Alph.     For  my  part,  I  see  no  wrong  that  has  been  offer'd  him. 

Gom.  How?  no  wrong?  why,  ho  ravish'd  me  with  the  help  of  two 
soldiers,  carried  me  away  vi  et  armis,  and  would  have  put  me  into  a 
plot  against  the  government.  [Lorenzo  liolds  up  again. 

I   confess,    I    never    could    endure    the    government,    because    it    was 

tyrannical;    but  my  sides   and   shoulders  are  black   and   blue,   as   I  can 

strip  and  shew  the  marks  of  'em.  [Lorenzo  again. 

350        But  that  might  happen,  too,  by  a  fall  that  I  got  yesterday  upon  the 

pebbles.  [All  laugh. 

Dom.  Fresh  straw,  and  a  dark  chamber;  a  most  manifest  judgment! 
there  never  comes  better  of  railing  against  the  Church. 

Gom.  Why,  what  will  you  have  me  say?  I  think  you'll  make  me 
mad :  truth  has  been  at  my  tongue's  end  this  half-hour,  and  I  have  not 
power  to  bring  it  out,  for  fear  of  this  bloody-minded  colonel. 

Alph.     What  colonel? 

Gom.     Why,   my  colonel:    I  mean,  my  wife's  colonel,   that   appears 
there  to  me  like  my  malus  genius,  and  terrifies  me. 
360        Alph.   [Turniyig.]    Now  you  are  mad  indeed,  Gomez;   this  is  my  son 
Lorenzo. 

Gom.     How?  your  son  Lorenzo!  it  is  impossible. 

Alph.     As  true  as  your  wife  Elvira  is  my  daughter. 

Lor.     What,  have  I  taken  all  this  pains  about  a  sister? 

Gom.  No,  you  have  taken  some  about  me ;  I  am  sure,  if  you  are 
her  brother,  my  sides  can  show  the  tokens  of  our  alliance. 

Alph.   [To  Lor.]    You  know  I  put  your  sister  into  a  nunnery,  with 

a  strict  command  not  to  see  you,  for  fear  you  should  have  wrought  upon 

her  to  have  taken  the  habit,  which  was  never  my  intention;  and,  conse- 

370  quently,  I  married  her  without  your  knowledge,  that  it  might  not  be  in 

your  power  to  prevent  it. 

Elv.     You  see,  brother,  I  had  a  natural  affection  to  you. 

Lor.  What  a  delicious  harlot  have  I  lost!  Now,  pox  upon  me,  for 
being  so  near  akin  to  thee! 

Elv.  However,  we  are  both  beholding  to  Friar  Dominic;  the  Church 
is  an  indulgent  mother,  she  never  fails  to  do  her  part. 

Dom.     Heaven!  what  will  become  of  me? 

Gom.  Why,  you  are  not  like  to  trouble  heaven;  those  fat  guts  were 
never  made  for  mounting. 

338.  0)1   him]    QqF.      to  hivi    SsXI. 

347.  neicr  could]    QqF.      could   never   SsM. 

35S.  not]    QIF.      no   Q2Q3Q4. 

3.50.  and]    QqF.      SsM   omit. 

37.5.  hcholdiufj]    QIF.      beholden   Q2Q3Q4. 

377.  Heaven:]    QqF.     Hcavena  I   SsM. 


382  THE  SPANISH  FKIAR 

380  Lor.  I  shall  make  bold  to  disburtlien  him  of  my  hundred  pistoles,  to 
make  him  the  lighter  for  his  journey:  indeed,  'tis  partly  out  of  con- 
science, that  I  may  not  be  accessory  to  his  breaking  his  vow  of  poverty. 

Alph.  I  have  no  secular  power  to  reward  the  pains  you  have  taken 
•with  my  daughter;  but  I  shall  do  't  by  proxy,  friar:  your  bishop's  my 
friend,  and  is  too  honest  to  let  such  as  you  infect  a  cloister. 

Gom.  Aye,  do,  father-in-law,  let  him  be  stripp'd  of  his  habit,  and 
die-order  'd. — I  would  fain  see  him  walk  in  quirpo,  like  a  cas  'd  rabbit, 
without  his  holy  fur  upon  his  back,  that  the  world  may  once  behold  the 
inside  of  a  friar. 
390  1)071}.  Farewell,  kind  gentlemen;  I  give  you  all  my  blessing  before 
I  go. — jMay  your  sisters,  wives,  and  daughters,  be  so  naturally  lewd,  that 
they  may  have  no  occasion  for  a  devil  to  tempt,  or  a  friar  to  pimp 
for  'em.  [Exit,  with  a  rabble  pushing  him. 

Enter  Torrismonb,  Leonora,  Bertram,  Eaymond,  Teresa,  ^c. 
Tor.     He  lives!  he  lives!  my  royal  father  lives! 
Let  every  one  partake  the  general  joy. 
Some  angel  with  a  golden  trumpet  sound: 
"King  Sancho  lives!"  and  let  the  echoing  skies 
From  pole  to  pole  resound:   "King  Sancho  lives!" 

0  Bertran,  O!  no  more  my  foe,  but  brother; 
400  One  act  like  this  blots  out  a  thousand  crimes. 

Bert.     Bad  men,  when  'tis  their  interest,  may  do  good. 

1  must  confess,  I  counsel'd  Sancho's  murther; 
And  urg'd  the  queen  by  specious  arguments : 
But  still,  suspecting  that  her  love  was  chang'd, 
I  spread  abroad  the  rumor  of  his  death. 

To  sound  the  very  soul  of  her  designs. 
Th'  event,  you  know,  was  answering  to  my  fears; 
She  threw  the  odium  of  the  fact  on  me, 
And  publicly  avow'd  her  love  to  you. 
410        Eaym.     Heaven  guided  all,  to  save  the  innocent. 
Bert.     I  plead  no  merit,  but  a  bare  forgiveness. 
Tor.     Not  only  that,  but  favor.     Sancho's  life. 
Whether  by  virtue  or  design  preserv'd, 
Claims  all  within  my  power. 

Qu.  My  prayers  are  heard; 

And  I  have  nothing  farther  to  desire, 
But  Sancho's  leave  to  authorize  our  marriage. 

Tor.     O!  fear  not  him!  pity  and  he  are  one; 
So  merciful  a  king  did  never  live; 
Loth  to  revenge,  and  easy  to  forgive. 
420  But  let  the  bold  conspirator  beware. 

For  heaven  makes  princes  its  peculi:a  care.  [Exeunt  omnes. 

isZ     do  't]   QqF.     do  it  SsM. 

387.     quirpo]    QIF.     querpo  Q2Q3Q4.     cuerpo   SsM. 


EPILOGUE 

BY   A   FRIEKD   OF   THE   AUTHOR 'S 

There's  none,  I'm  sure,  who  is  a  friend   to  love, 
But  will  our  Friar's  cliaraetcr  approve: 
The  ablest  spark  among  you  sometimes  needs 
Such  pious  help  for  charitable  deeds. 
Our  Church,  alas!    (as  Rome  objects)   does  want 
These  ghostly  comforts  for  the  falling  saint: 
This  gains  them  their  whore-converts,  and  may  be 
One  reason  of  the  growth  of  Popery. 
So  Mahomet's  religion  came  in  fashion, 
10         By  the  large  leave  it  gave  to  fornication. 

Fear  not  the  guilt,  if  you  can  pay  for  't  well; 

There  is  no  Dives  in  the  Roman  hell : 

Gold  opens  the  strait  gate,  and  lets  him  in; 

But  want  of  money  is  a  mortal  sin. 

For  all  besides  you  may  discount  to  heaven, 

And  drop  a  bead  to  keep  the  tallies  even. 

How  are  men  eozen'd  still  with  shows  of  good! 

The  bawd's  best  mask  is  the  grave  friar's  hood. 

Tho'  vice  no  more  a  clergyman  displeases 

20        Than  iloctors  can  be  thought  to  hate  diseases; 
'Tis  by  your  living  ill  that  they  live  well. 
By  your  debauches  their  fat  paunches  swell. 
'Tis  a  mock  war  between  the  priest  and  devil; 
When  they  think  fit,  they  can  be  very  civil. 
As  some,  who  did  French  counsels  most  advance, 
To  blind  the  world,  have  rail'd  in  print  at  France, 
Thus  do  the  clergy  at  your  vices  bawl, 
That  with  more  ease  they  may  engross  them  all. 
By  damning  yours,  they  do  their  own  maintain; 

30        A  churchman's  godliness  is  always  gain: 

Hence  to  their  prince  they  will  superior  be; 

And  civil  treason  grows  church  loyalty. 

They  boast  the  gift  of  heaven  is  in  their  power; 

Well  may  they  give  the  god  they  can  devour! 

Still  to  the  sick  and  dead  their  claims  they  lay; 

For  'tis  on  carrion  that  the  vermin  prey. 

Nor  have  they  less  dominion  on  our  life; 


AuTiion's]    Q1Q2F.     Author  Q3Q4. 
1.     I'm]   Q2Q3Q4SsM.     I'am   QIF. 


384  THE  SPANISH  FEIAE 

They  trot  the  husbaml,  and  they  pace  the  wife. 
Rouse  up,  you  cuckolds  of  the  northern  elir.ies, 
40  And   Jearn  from  Sweden  to  prevent  such  crimes. 

Unman  the  Friar,  and  leave  the  holy  drone    -\ 
To  hum  in  his  forsaken  hive  alone;  W 

He'll  work  no  honey  when  his  sting  is  gone.  J 
Your  wives  and  daughters  soon  will  leave  the  cells, 
When  they  have  lost  the  sound  of  Aaron's  bells. 


THE  REHEARSAL 


On  the  early  editions  of  The  Behcarsal, 
see  Introduction,  page  xxxii. 


PROLOGUE 

We  might  \\ell  call  this  short   mock-play  of  ours 
A  posy  made  of  weeds  instead  of  flowers; 
Yet  such  have  been  presented  to  your  noses, 
And  there  are  such,  I  fear,  who  thought  'em  roses. 
Would  some  of  'em  were  here,  to  see,  this  night, 
What  stuff  it  is  in  which  they  took  delight. 
Here,  brisk,  insipid  blades,  for  wit,  let  fall 
Sometimes  dull  sense;   but  oft'ner,  none  at  all: 
There,  strutting  heroes,  with  a  grim-fac'd  train, 

10       Shall  brave  the  gods,  in  King  Cambyses'  vein. 
For   (changing  rules,  of  late,  as  if  men  writ 
In  spite  of  reason,  nature,  art,  and  wit) 
Our  poets  make  us  laugh  at  tragedy. 
And  with  their  comedies  they  make  us  cry. 
Now,   critics,  do  your  worst,   that   here   are   met; 
For,  like  a  rook,  I  have  hedg'd  in  my  bet. 
If  you  approve,  I  shall  assume  the  state 
Of  those  highflyers  whom  I  imitate: 
And  justly  too;  for  I  will  shew  you  more 

20       Than  ever  they  vouchsaf'd  to  shew  before: 
I  will  both  represent  the  feats  they  do. 
And  give  you  all  their  reasons  for  'em  too. 
Some  honor  to  me  will  from  this  arise. 
But  if,  by  my  endeavors,  you  grow  wise. 
And  what  was  once  so  prais'd  you  now  despise; 
Then  I'll  cry  out,  swcH'd  with  poetic  rage, 
'Tis  I,  John  Lacy,  have  reform 'd  your  stage. 


THE  ACTOES'  NAMES 

[MEN] 

Bayes. 
Johnson. 

Smith. 

Two  Kings  of  Brentford. 

Prince   Pretty-man. 

Prince  Volscius. 

Gentleman-Usher. 

Physician. 

Drawcansir. 

General. 

Lieutenant  General. 

Cordelio. 

Tom  Thimble. 

Fisherman. 

Sun. 

Thunder. 

Players. 

Soldiers. 

Two  Heralds. 

Four  Cardinals. 

Mayor. 

Judges. 

Sergeants  at  Arms. 

WOMEN 

Amaryllis. 

Chloris. 

Parthenope. 

Pallas. 

Lightning. 

Moon. 

Earth. 

Attendants    of   Men    and    Women. 

SCENE— Brentford. 


THE  EEHEAESAL 
ACT  I.     SCENE  I. 

Johnson  and  Smith. 

Johns.  Honest  Frank !  I  'm  glad  to  see  thee  with  all  my  heart :  how 
long  hast  thou  been  in  town? 

Smi.  Faith,  not  above  an  hour:  and,  if  I  had  not  met  you  here,  I 
bad  gone  to  look  you  out;  for  I  long  to  talk  with  you  freely,  of  all  the 
strange  new  things  we  have  heard  in  the  country. 

Johns.  And,  by  my  troth,  I  have  long'd  as  much  to  laugh  with  you 
at  all  the  impertinent,  dull,  fantastical  things  we  are  tir'd  out  with  here. 

Smi.  Dull  and  fantastical!  That's  an  excellent  composition.  Pray, 
what  are  our  men  of  business  doing? 
10  Johns.  I  ne'er  enquire  after  'em.  Thou  know'st  my 'humor  lies 
another  way.  I  love  to  please  myself  as  much,  and  to  trouble  others  as 
little  as  I  can:  and  therefore  do  naturally  avoid  the  company  of  those 
solemn  fups,  who,  being  incapable  of  reason,  and  insensible  of  wit  and 
pleasure,  are  always  looking  grave,  and  troubling  one  another,  in  hopes 
to  be  thought  men  of  business. 

Smi.  Indeed,  I  have  ever  observ'd  that  your  grave  lookers  are  the 
dullest  of  men. 

Johris.     Aye,  and  of  birds,  and  beasts  too :  your  gravest  bird  is  an 
owl,  and  your  gravest  beast  is  an  ass. 
20        Smi.     Well;  but  how  dost  thou  pass  thy  time? 

Johns.  Why,  as  I  use  to  do;  eat  and  drink  as  well  as  I  can,  have  a 
she-friend  to  be  private  with  in  the  afternoon,  and  sometimes  see  a  play: 
where  there  are  such  things,  Frank,  such  hideous,  monstrous  things,  tUat 
it  has  almost  made  me  forswear  the  stage,  and  resolve  to  apply  myself 
to  the  solid  nonsense  of  your  pretenders  to  business,  as  the  more 
ingenious  pastime. 

Smi.  I  have  beard,  indeed,  you  have  had  lately  many  new  plays,  and 
our  country  wits  commend   'em. 

Johns.     Aye,  so  do  some  of  our  city  wits  too;  but  they  are  of  the 
30  new  kind  of  wits. 

Smi.     New  kind?     What  kind  is  that? 

Johns.  Why,  your  blade,  your  frank  persons,  your  drolls;  fellows 
that  scorn  to  imitate  nature,  but  are  given  altogether  to  elevate  and 
surprise. 

Smi.  Elevate,  and  surprise?  Pr'ythee  make  me  understand  the 
meaning  of  that. 

Johns.     Nay,  by  my  trotb,  that's  a  bard  matter;  I  don't  understand 

38y 


390 


THE  EEHEAESAL 


that  myself.    'Tis  a  phrase  they  have  got  among  them,  to  express  their 
no-meaning  by.     I'll  tell  you,  as  well  as  I  can,  what  it  is.     Let  me  see; 
40  'tis  fighting,  loving,  sleeping,  riming,   dying,  dancing,  singing,  crying; 
and  everything  but  thinking  and  sense. 

Mr.  Bayes  passes  o'er  the  stage, 

Bayes.    Your  most  obsequious,  and  most  observant,  very  servant,  sir. 

Johns.     Godso,  this  is  an  author;  I'll  fetch  him  to  you. 

Smi.     Nay,  pr'ythee  let  him  alone. 

Johns.  Nay,  by  the  Lord,  I'll  have  him.  [Goes  after  hiin.]  Here 
he  is.  I  have  caught  him.  Pray,  sir,  for  my  sake,  will  you  do  a  favor 
to  this  friend  of  mine? 

Bayes.     Sir,  it  is  not  within  my  small  capacity  to   do   favors,  but 
receive  'em ;  especially  from  a  person  that  does  wear  the  honorable  title 
50  you  are  pleas 'd  to  impose,  sir,  upon  this Sweet  sir,  your  servant. 

Smi.     Your  humble  servant,  sir. 

Johns.     But  wilt  thou  do  me  a  favor,  now? 

Bayes.     Aye,  sir.     What  is't? 

Johns.     Why,  to  tell  him  the  meaning  of  thy  last  play. 

Bayes.     How,  sir,  the  meaning?     Do  you  mean  the  plot? 

Johns.     Aye,  aye;  anything. 

Bayes.  Faith,  sir,  the  intrigo's  now  quite  out  of  my  head;  but  I 
have  a  new  one,  in  my  pocket,  that  I  may  say  is  a  virgin;  't  has  never 
yet  been  blown  upon.  I  must  tell  you  one  thing:  'Tis  all  new  wit;  and, 
60  tho '  I  say  it,  a  better  than  my  last :  and  you  know  well  enough  how 
that  took.  In  fine,  it  shall  read,  and  write,  and  act,  and  plot,  and  shew, 
aye,  and  pit,  box,  and  gallery,  i 'gad,  with  any  play  in  Europe.  This 
morning  is  its  last  rehearsal,  in  their  habits,  and  all  that,  as  it  is  to  be 
acted ;  and  if  you  and  your  friend  will  do  it  but  the  honor  to  see  it  in  its 
virgin  attire;    tho',  perhaps,  it  may  blush,  I  shall  not  be  asham'd  to 

discover  its  nakedness  unto  you. 1  think  it  is  o'  this  side. 

[Puts  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

Johns.     Sir,  I  confess  I  am  not  able  to  answer  you  in  this  new  way; 
but  if  you  please  to  lead,  I  shall  be  glad  to  follow  you ;  and  I  hope  my 
friend  will  do  so  too. 
70        Smi.    Aye,  sir,  I  have  no  business  so  considerable  as  should  keep  me 
from  your  company. 

Bayes.  Yes,  here  it  is.  No,  cry  you  mercy:  this  is  my  book  of 
Drama  Commonplaces,  the  mother  of  many  other  plays. 

Johns.     Drama  Commonplaces!   Pray  what's  that? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir,  some  certain  helps  that  we  men  of  art  have  found 
it  convenient  to  make  use  of. 

Smi.     How,  sir,  help  for  wit? 

Bayes.     Aye,  sir,  that's  my  position.     And  I  do  here  aver,  that  no 
man  yet  the  sun  e'er  shone  upon  has  parts  sufficient  to  furnish  out  a 
80  stage,  except  it  be  with  the  help  of  these  my  rules. 

Johns.     What  are  those  rules,  I  pray? 

Bayes.    Why,  sir,  my  first  rule  is  the  rule  of  transversion,  or  regula 


ACT  I,  SCENE  II  391 

duplex:  changing  verse  into  prose,  or  prose  into  verse,  alternative  as  you 
please. 

Smi.     How's  that,  sir,  by  a  rule,  I  pray? 

Bayes.     Why,  thus,  sir;  nothing  more  easy  when  understood:   I  take 

a  book  in  my  hand,  either  at  home,  or  elsewhere,  for  that's  all  one;  if 

there  be  any  wit  iu't,  as  tiiere  is  no  book  but  has  some,  I  transverse  it; 

that  is,  if  it  be  prose,  put  it  into  verse,  (but  that  takes  up  some  time;) 

90  if  it  be  verse,  put  it  into  prose. 

Johns.  Methinks,  Mr.  Bayes,  that  putting  verse  into  prose  should  be 
call'd  transprosing. 

Bayes.     By  my  troth,  a  very  good  notion,  and  hereafter  it  shall  be  so. 

ami.     Well,  sir,  and  what  d'ye  do  with  it  then? 

Bayes.  Make  it  my  own.  'Tis  so  alter'd  that  no  man  can  know  it. 
My  next  rule  is  the  rule  of  record,  and  by  way  of  table-book.  Pray 
observe. 

Johns.     Well,  we  hear  you:  go  on. 

Bayes.  As  thus.  I  come  into  a  coffee-house,  or  some  other  place 
100  where  witty  men  resort:  I  make  as  if  I  minded  nothing;  (do  you  mark?) 
but  as  soon  as  any  one  speaks,  pop  I  slap  it  down,  and  make  that,  too, 
my  own. 

Johns.  But,  Mr.  Bayes,  are  not  you  sometimes  in  danger  of  their 
making  you  restore,  by  force,  what  you  have  gotten  thus  by  art? 

Bayes.  No,  sir;  the  world's  unmindful:  they  never  take  notice  of 
these  things. 

ISmi.  But  pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  among  all  your  other  rules,  have  you  no 
one  rule  for  invention? 

Bayes.  Yes,  sir,  that's  my  third  rule  that  I  have  here  in  my  pocket. 
110         <S'mi.     What  rule  can  that  be? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir,  when  I  have  anything  to  invent,  I  never  trouble 
my  head  about  it,  as  other  men  do;  but  presently  turn  o'er  this  book, 
and  there  I  have,  at  one  view,  all  that  Persius,  Montaigne,  Seneca's 
Tragedies,  Horace,  Juvenal,  Claudian,  Pliny,  Plutarch 's  Lives,  and  the 
rest,  have  ever  thought  upon  this  subject;  and  so,  in  a  trice,  by  leaving 
out  a  few  words,  or  putting  in  others  of  my  own,  the  business  is  done. 

Johns.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bayes,  this  is  as  sure  and  compendious  a  way  of 
wit  as  ever  I  heard  of. 

Bayes.  Aye,  sirs,  when  you  come  to  write  yourselves,  o'  my  word 
120  you'll  find  it  so.  But,  gentlemen,  if  you  make  the  least  scruple  of  the 
efficacy  of  these  my  rules,  do  but  come  to  the  playhouse,  and  you  shall 
judge  of  'em  by  the  effects. 

ami.     We'll  follow  you,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

[SCENE  II] 
Enter  three  Players  upon  the  Stage. 

1  Play.     Have  you  your  part  perfect? 

2  Play.  Yes,  I  have  it  without  book;  but  I  do  not  understand  how 
it  is  to  be  spoken. 

3  Play.     And  mine  is  such  a  one  as  I  can't  guess  for  my  life  what 


392  THE  KEHEARSAL 

humor  I'm  to  be  in:   whether  angry,  melancholy,  merry,  or  in  love.     I 
don't  know  what  to  make  on't. 

1  [Play.]  Phoo!  The  author  will  be  here  presently,  and  he'll  tell  us 
all.  You  must  know,  this  is  the  new  way  of  writing;  and  these  hard 
things  please  forty  times  better  than  the  old  plain  way.     For,  look  you, 

10  sir,  the  grand  design  upon  the  stage  is  to  keep  the  auditors  in  suspense; 
for  to  guess  presently  at  the  plot  and  the  sense  tires  'em  before  the  end 
of  the  first  act:  now,  here,  every  line  surprises  you,  and  brings  in  new 
matter.  And,  then,  for  scenes,  clothes,  and  dancing,  we  put  'em  quite 
down,  all  that  ever  went  before  us:  and  these  are  the  things,  you  know, 
that  are  essential  to  a  play. 

2  Play.  AVell,  I  am  not  of  thy  mind;  but,  so  it  gets  us  money,  'tis 
no  great  matter. 

Enter  Bayes,  Johnson,  and  Smith. 

Bayes.     Come,  come  in,  gentlemen.     Y'are  very  welcome,  Mr. a 

Ha'  you  your  part  ready? 

20         1  Play.     Yes,  sir. 

Bayes.     But  do  you  understand  the  true  humor  of  it? 
1  Play.     Aye,  sir,  pretty  well. 

Bayes.  And  Amarillis,  how  does  she  do?  Does  not  her  armor  be- 
come her? 

3  Play.     O,  admirably! 

Bayes.  I'll  tell  you,  now,  a  pretty  conceit.  What  do  you  think  I'll 
make  'em  call  her  anon,  in  this  play? 

Smi.     "What,  I  pray? 

Bayes.     Why,   I'll    make    'em    call    her    Armarillis,    because    of    her 
EO  armor:   ha,   ha,  ha. 

Johns.     That  will  be  very  well,  indeed. 

Bayes.  Aye,  it's  a  pretty  little  rogue;  she  is  my  mistress.  I  knew 
her  face  would  set  off  armor  extremely;  and,  to  tell  you  true,  I  writ 
that  part  only  for  her.  Well,  gentlemen,  I  dare  be  bold  to  say,  without 
vanity,  I'll  shew  you  something,  here,  that  's  very  ridiculous,  i'gad. 

[Exeunt  Players. 

Johns.     Sir,  that  we  do  not  doubt  of. 

Bayes.  Pray,  sir,  let's  sit  down.  Look  you,  sir,  the  chief  hinge  of 
this  play,  upon  which  the  whole  plot  moves  and  turns,  and  that  causes 
the  variety  of  all  the  several  accidents,  which,  you  know,  are  the  thing 
40  in  nature  that  make  up  the  grand  refinement  of  a  play,  is,  that  I  sup- 
pose two  kings  to  be  of  the  same  place:  as,  for  example,  at  Brentford; 
for  I  love  to  write  familiarly.  Now  the  people,  having  the  same  rela- 
tions to  'em  both,  the  same  affections,  the  same  duty,  the  same  obedience, 
and  all  that,  are  divided  among  themselves  in  point  of  devoir  and  in- 
terest, how  to  behave  themselves  equally  between  'em:  these  kings  dif- 
fering sometimes  in  particular;  tho',  in  the  main,  they  agree.  (I  know 
not  whether  I  make  myself  well  understood.) 

Johns.     I  did  not  observe  you,  sir:  pray  say  that  again. 
Bayes.     Why,  look  you,  sir,   (nay,  I  beseech  you,  be  a  little  curious 
50  in  taking  notice  of  this,  or  else  you'll  never  understand  my  notion  of 
the  thing,)    the  people  being  embarrass'd  by  their  equal  ties  to  both, 


ACT  I,  SCENE  11  393 

and  the  sovereigns  concern'd  in  a  reciprocal  regard,  as  well  to  their 
own  interest  as  the  good  of  the  people;  may  make  a  certain  kind  of 
a you  understand  me upon  which,  there  does  arise  several  dis- 
putes, turmoils,  heart-burnings,  and  all  that In  fine,  you'll  appre- 
hend it  better  when  you  see  it.  [Exit,  to  call  the  Players. 
Smi.  I  find  the  author  will  be  very  much  oblig'd  to  the  players,  if 
they  can  make  any  sense  of  this. 

Enter  Bayes. 

Bayes.    Now,  gentlemen,  I  would  fain  ask  your  opinion  of  one  thing. 
60  I  have  made  a  prologue  and  an   epilogue,  which  may  both  serve  for 
either:    (do  you  mark?)    nay,  they  may  both  serve  too,  i'gad,   for  any 
other  play  as  well  as  this. 

Smi.     Very  well.     That's  indeed  artificial. 

Bayes.  And  I  would  fain  ask  your  judgments,  now,  which  of  them 
would  do  best  for  the  prologue?  For,  you  must  know,  there  is,  in 
nature,  but  two  ways  of  making  very  good  prologues.     The  one  is  by 

civility,   by  insinuation,   good   language,  and  all   that,   to a in   a 

manner,  steal  your  plaudit  from  the  courtesy  of  the  auditors:  the 
other,  by  making  use  of  some  certain  personal  things,  which  may  keep 
70  a  hank  upon  such  censuring  persons,  as  cannot  otherways,  a-gad.  in 
nature,  be  hinder'd  from  being  too  free  with  their  tongues.  To  which 
end,  my  first  prologue  is,  that  I  come  out  in  a  long  black  veil,  and  a 
great  huge  hangman  behind  me,  with  a  furr'd  cap,  and  his  sword 
drawn;  and  there  tell  'em  plainly,  that  if,  out  of  good  nature,  thoy 
will  not  like  my  play,  why  i'gad,  Til  e'en  kneel  down,  and  he  shall  cut 
my  head  off.     Whereupon  they  all  clapping a 

ISmi.     But,  suppose  they  do  not. 

Bayes.  Suppose!  Sir,  you  may  suppose  what  you  please;  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  your  suppose,  sir,  nor  am  not  at  all  mortified  at  it; 

80  not  at  all,  sir;    i'gad,  not  one  jot.     Suppose,   quoth  a! 

[Wallcs  away. 

Johns.  Phoo!  Pr'ythee,  Bayes,  don't  mind  what  he  says:  he's  a 
fellow  newly  out  of  the  country;  he  knows  nothing  of  what's  the 
relish,  here,  of  the  town. 

Bayes.  If  I  writ,  sir,  to  please  the  country,  I  should  have  follow'd 
the  old  plain  way;  but  I  write  for  some  persons  of  quality,  and  peculiar 
friends  of  mine,  that  understand  what  fiame  and  power  in  writing  is: 
and  they  do  me  the  right,  sir,  to  approve  of  what  I  do. 

Johns.     Aye,  aye,  they  will  clap,  I  warrant  you;   never   fear  it. 

Bayes.  I'm  sure  the  design's  good:  that  cannot  be  denied.  And 
90  then,  for  language,  i'gad,  I  defy  'em  all,  in  nature,  to  mend  it.  Be- 
sides, sir,  I  have  printed  above  a  hundred  sheets  of  paper,  to  insinuate 
the  plot  into  the  bo.xes:  and  withal,  have  appointed  two  or  three  dozen 
of  my  friends,  to  be  ready  in  the  pit,  who,  I'm  sure,  will  clap,  and  so  the 
rest,  you  know,  must  follow;  and  then  pray,  sir.  what  becomes  of  your 
suppose?     Ha,  ha,  ha. 

Johns.     Nay,  if  the  business  be  so  well  laid,  it  cannot  miss. 

Bayes.     I  think  so,   sir:    and   therefore   would   choose  this   for   the 


394  THE  EEHEAESAL 

prologue.  For,  if  I  could  engage  'em  to  clap,  before  they  see  the  play, 
you  kuow  'twould  be  so  much  the  bettor;  because  then  they  were  engag'd: 
100  for,  let  a  man  write  never  so  well,  there  are,  nowadays,  a  sort  of  per- 
sons they  call  critics,  that,  i'gad,  have  no  more  wit  in  'em  than  so  many 
hobby-horses;  but  they'll  laugh  you,  sir,  and  find  fault,  and  censure 
things  that,  a-gad,  I'm  sure  they  are  not  able  to  do  themselves.  A  sort 
of  envious  persons,  that  emulate  the  glories  of  persons  of  parts,  and 
tliink  to  build  their  fame  by  calumniating  of  persons  that,  i'gad,  to  my 
knowledge,  of  all  persons  in  the  world  are,  in  nature,  the  persons  that 
do  as  much  despise  all  that,  as a In  fine,  I  '11  say  no  more  of  'em. 

Johns.  Aye,  aye,  you  have  said  enough  of  'em  in  conscience:  I'm 
sure  more  than  they'll  ever  be  able  to  answer. 
110  Bayes.  Why,  I'll  tell  you,  sir,  sincerely,  and  bona  fide;  were  it  not 
for  the  sake  of  some  ingenious  persons,  and  choice  female  spirits,  that 
have  a  value  for  me,  I  would  see  'em  all  haug'd  before  I  would  e'er  more 
set  pen  to  paper;  but  let  'em  live  in  ignorance  like  ingrates. 

Johns.  Aye,  marry!  that  were  a  way  to  be  reveng'd  of  'em  indeed: 
and,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  now,  I  would  do  it. 

Bayes.  No,  sir;  there  are  certain  ties  upon  me,  that  I  cannot  be 
disingag'd  from;  otherwise,  I  would.  But  pray,  sir,  how  do  you  like 
my  hangman? 

tSmi.     By  my  troth,  sir,  I  should  like  him  very  well. 
120        Bayes.     Aye,  but  how  do  you  like  it?   (for  I  see  you  can  judge.) 
Would  you  have  it  for  the  prologue,  or  the  epilogue? 

Johns.     Faith,  sir,  it's  so  good,  let  it  e'en  serve  for  both, 

Bayes.     No,  no;  that  won't  do.     Besides,  I  have  made  another. 

Johns.     WHiat  other,  sir? 

Bayes.     Why,  sir,  my  other  is  Thunder  and  Lightning. 

Johns.     That's  greater:     I'd  rather  stick  to  that, 

Bayes.  Do  you  think  so?  I'll  tell  you  then;  tho '  there  have 
been  many  witty  prologues  written  of  late,  yet  I  think  you'll  say  this  is 
a  non  pareillo:  I'm  sure  nobody  has  hit  upon  it  yet.  For  here,  sir,  I 
130  make  my  prologue  to  be  dialogue:  and  as,  in  my  first,  you  see  I  strive 
to  oblige  the  auditors  by  civility,  by  good  nature,  and  all  that ;  so,  in 
this,  by  the  other  way,  in  terrorem,  I  choose  for  the  persons  Thunder 
and  Lightning.     Do  you  apprehend  the  conceit? 

Johns.  Phoo,  pox!  Then  you  have  it  cock-sure.  They'll  be  hang'd 
before  they'll  dare  affront  an  author  that  has   'em  at  that  lock, 

Bayes.  1  have  made,  too,  one  of  the  most  delicate,  dainty  similes 
in  the  whole  world,  i'gad,  if  I  knew  but  how  to  apply  it. 

Smi.    Let's  hear  it,  I  pray  you, 

Bayes.     'Tis  an  allusion  to  love: 

140  So  boar  and  sow,  when  any  storm  is  nigh, 

Snuff  up,  and  smell  it  gath'ring  in  the  sky: 
Boar  beckons  sow  to  trot  in  chestnut  groves, 
And  there  consummate  their  unfinish'd  loves. 
Pensive  in  mud  they  wallow  all  alone. 
And  snort,  and  gruntle  to  each  other's  moan. 
How  do  you  like  it  now,  ba? 


ACT  I,  SCENE  II  395 

Johns.  Faith,  'tis  extraordinary  fine :  and  very  applicable  to  Thun- 
der and  Lightning,  methinks,  because  it  speaks  of  a  storm. 

Bayes.     I'gad,  and   so   it   does,   now   I   think   on't.      Mr.   Johnson,   I 
150  thank    you;    and    I'll    put    it    in    profecto.      Come    out,    Thunder    and 
Lightning. 

Enter  Thunder  and  Lightning. 

Thun.     I  am  the  bold  Thunder. 

Bayes.  Mr.  Cartwright,  pr'ythee  speak  a  little  louder,  and  with  a 
hoarser  voice.  "I  am  the  bold  Thunder?"  Pshaw!  speak  it  me  in  a 
voice  that  thunders  it  out  indeed:     "I  am  the  bold  Thunder." 

Thun.     I  am  the  bold  Thunder. 
Light.     The  brisk  Lightning,  L 

Bayes.     Nay,  you  must  be  quick  and   nimble. 
"The  brisk  Lightning,  I."     That's  my  meaning. 

160         Thnn.     I  am  the  bravest   Hector  of  the  sky. 

Light.     And   I,  fair  Helen,   that   made   Hector  die. 

Thun.     I  strike  men  down. 

Light.     I  fire  the  town. 

Thun.     Let  the  critics  take  heed  how  they  grumble, 

For  then  begin  I  for  to  rumble. 
Light.     Let  the  ladies  allow  us  their  graces. 

Or  I  '11  blast  all  the  paint  on  their  faces, 
And  dry  up  their  peter  to  soot. 
Thun.     Let  the  critics  look  to't. 
170        Light.     Let  the  ladies  look  to't. 
Thun.     For  Thunder  will  do't. 
Light.     For  Lightning  will  shoot. 
Thun.     I'll  give  you  dash  for  dash. 
Light.     I  '11  give  you  flash  for  flash. 

Gallants,  I'll  singe  your  feather. 
Thun.     I  '11  thunder  you  together. 

Both.  Look  to't,  look  to't;  we'll  do't,  we'll  do't:  look  to't,  we'll 
do't.  [Twice  or  thrice  repeated. 

[Exeunt  ambo. 
Bdyes.     That's  all.    'Tis  but  a  flash  of  a  prologue;  a  droll. 
180         Smi.     'Tis  short,  indeed;  but  very  terrible. 

Bayes.  Aye,  when  the  simile  is  in,  it  will  do  to  a  miracle,  i'gad. 
Come,  come;  begin  the  play. 

Entar  First  Player, 

1  Play.  Sir,  Mr.  Ivory  is  not  come  yet;  but  he'll  be  here  presently, 
he's  but  two  doors  off. 

Bayes.  Come  then,  gentlemen,  let's  go  out  and  take  a  pipe  of 
tobacco.  [Exeunt. 


396  THE  KEHEAESAL 


ACT  II.     SCENE   I. 

Bayes,  Johnson,  and  Smith. 

Bayes.  Now,  sir,  because  I'll  do  nothing  here  that  ever  was  done 
before [Spits. 

Smi.    A  very  notable  design  for  a  play,  indeed. 

Bayes.  Instead  of  beginning  with  a  scene  that  discovers  something 
of  the  plot,  I  begin  this  with  a  whisper. 

Smi.     That's  very  new. 

Bayes.    Come,  take  your  seats.    Begin,  sirs. 

Enter   Gentleman-Usher  and  Physician. 

Phys.     Sir,  by  your  habit,  I  should  guess  you  to  be  the  gentleman- 
usher  of  this  sumptuous  place. 
10         ZJsh.    And,  by  your  gait  and  fashion,  I  should  almost  suspect  you  rule 
the  healths  of  both  our  noble  kings,  under  the  notion  of  physician. 

Phys.    You  hit  my  function  right. 

ZJsh.     And  you  mine. 

Phys.    Then  let's  imbrace. 

Ush.     Come  then. 

Phys.     Come. 

Johns.     Pray,  sir,  who  are  those  two  so  very  civil  persons. 

Bayes.     Why,    sir,    the    gentleman-usher    and    physician    of    the    two 
Kings  of  Brentford. 
20        Johns.     But  how  comes  it  to   pass,  then,   that  they  know  one  an- 
other no  better? 

Bayes.     Phoo!     That's  for  the  better  carrying  on  of  the  intrigue. 

Johns.     Very  well. 

Phys.     Sir,  to  conclude, — 

Smi.     What,  before  he  begins? 

Bayes.  No,  sir;  you  must  know  they  had  been  talking  of  this  a 
pretty  while  without. 

Smi.     Where?     In  the  tiring-room? 

Bayes.     Why  aye,  sir.     He's  so  dull!     Come,  speak  again. 

30  Phys.  Sir,  to  conclude,  the  place  you  fill  has  more  than  amply 
exacted  the  talents  of  a  wary  pilot,  and  all  these  threat'ning  storms 
which,  like  impregnant  clouds,  do  hover  o'er  our  heads  (when  they  once 
are  grasp'd  but  by  the  eye  of  reason),  melt  into  fruitful  showers  of 
blessings  on  the  people. 

Bayes.     Pray  mark  that  allegory.     Is  not  that  good? 

Johns.     Yes;  that  grasping  of  a  storm  with  the  eye  is  admirable. 

Phys.  But  yet  some  rumors  great  are  stirring;  and  if  Lorenzo 
should  prove  false  (as  none  but  the  great  gods  can  tell),  you  then  per- 
haps would  find,  that [Whispers. 


ACT  II,  SCENE  1  397 

40        Bayes.     Now  tlicy  whisper. 

IJsh.  Alone,  do  you  say? 

Phys.     No;  attended  with  the  noble [Whis'pers. 

Vsh.  Who,  he  in  gray? 

Fhys.     Yes;  and  at  the  head  of [Whispers. 

Bayes.     Pray  mark. 

Ush.     Then,  sir,  most  certain,  'twill  in  time  appear 
These  are  the  reasons  that  inducM  'em  to  't: 
First,  he [Whispers. 

Bayes.     Now  t'other  whispers. 

50         Ush.     Secondly,  they [Whispers. 

Bayes.     He's  at  it  still. 

Ush.     Thirdly,  and   lastly,  both  he,  and   they [Whispers. 

Bayes.     There  they  both  whisper.  [Exeunt  whispering. 

Now%  gentlemen,  pray  tell  me  true,  and  witliout  flattery,  is  not  this  a 
very  odd  beginning  of  a  play? 

Johns.  In  troth,  I  think  it  is,  sir.  But  why  two  kings  of  the  same 
place? 

Bayes.     Why?     Because  it's  new;  and  that's  it  I  aim  at.     I  despise 
your  Jonson,  and  Beaumont,  that  borrow'd  all  they  writ   from  Nature: 
60  I  am  for  fetching  it  purely  out  of  my  own  fancy,  I. 

Smi.     But  what  think  you  of  Sir  .Tohn   Suckling,  sir? 

Bayes.     By  gad,  I  am  a  better  poet  than  he. 

iSmi.     Well,  sir;  but  pray  why  all  this  whispering? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir  (besides  that  it  is  new,  as  I  told  you  before), 
because  they  are  suppos'd  to  be  politicians;  and  matters  of  state  ought 
not  to  be  divulg'd. 

iSmi.     But  then,  sir,  why 

Bayes.  Sir,  if  you'll  but  respite  your  curiosity  till  the  end  of  the 
fifth  act,  you'll  find  it  a  piece  of  patience  not  ill  roeompens'd. 

[Goes  to  the  door. 
70        Johns.     How  dost  thou  like  this,  Frank?     Is  it   not  just  as   I  told 
thee? 

Smi.  Why,  I  did  never,  before  this,  see  anything  in  nature,  and  all 
that  (as  Mr.  Bayes  says),  so  foolish,  but  I  could  give  some  guess  at 
what  mov'd  the  fop  to  do  it;  but  this,  I  confess,  does  go  beyond  my 
reach. 

Johns.  Why,  'tis  nil  alike:  Mr.  Wintershall  has  inform'd  me  of 
this  play  before.  And  I'll  tell  thee,  Frank,  thou  shalt  not  see  one  scene 
here,  that  either  properly  ought  to  come  in,  or  is  like  anything  thou 
canst  imagine  has  ever  been  the  practice  of  the  world.  And  then,  when 
80  he  comes  to  what  he  calls  good  language,  it  is,  as  I  told  thee,  very 
fantastical,  most  abominably  dull,  and  not  one  word  to  the  purpose, 

ijmi.     It  does  surprise  me,  I  am  sure,  very  much. 


398  THE  KEHEAESAL 

Johns.  Aye,  but  it  won't  do  so  long:  by  that  time  thou  hast  seen  a 
play  or  two  that  I'll  shew  thee,  thou  wilt  be  pretty  well  acquainted  with 
this  now  kind  of  foppery. 

SCENE  II 

Enter  the  two  Kings,  hand  in  hand. 

Bayes.  These  are  the  two  Kings  of  Brentford;  take  notice  of  their 
style:  'twas  never  yet  upon  the  stage;  but,  if  you  like  it,  I  could  make 
a  shift,  perhaps,  to  shew  you  a  whole  play,  written  all  just  so. 

1  King.     Did  you  observe  their  whisper,  brother  king? 

2  King.     I  did;  and  heard  besides  a  grave  bird  sing 
That  they  intend,  sweetheart,  to  play  us  pranks. 

Bayes.  This,  now%  is  familiar,  because  they  are  both  persons  of  the 
same  quality. 

Smi.     'Sdeath,  this  would  make  a  man  spew. 

10        1  King.     If  that  design  appears, 
I'll  lug  'em  by  the  ears 
Until  I  make  'em  crack. 
2  King.     And  so  will  I,  i'fack. 

1  King.     You  must  begin,  mon  foi. 

2  King.     Sweet  sir,  pardonnez  moi. 

Bayes.  Mark  that:  I  makes  'em  both  speak  French,  to  shew  their 
breeding. 

Johns.     O,  'tis  extraordinary  fine. 

2  King.     Then,  spite  of  fate,  we'll  thus  combined  stand; 
2Q  And,  like  true  brothers,  walk  still  hand  in  hand. 

[Exeunt  Beges. 

Johns.     This  is  a  very  majestic  scene  indeed. 

Bayes.  Aye,  'tis  a  crust,  a  lasting  crust  for  your  rogae  critics,  i'gad: 
I  would  fain  see  the  proudest  of  'em  all  but  dare  to  nibble  at  this; 
i'gad,  if  they  do,  this  shall  rub  their  gums  for  'em,  I  promise  you.  It 
was  I,  you  must  know,  writ  the  play  I  told  you  of,  in  this  very  style: 
and  shall  1  tell  you  a  very  good  jest?  i'gad,  the  players  would  not  act 
it.     Ha,  ha,  ha. 

Smi.     That's  impossible. 

Bayes.     I'gad,  they  would  not,   sir.     Ha,  ha,  ha.     They  refus'd  it, 
30  i  'gad,  the  silly  rogues.  Ha,  ha,  ha. 

Johns.     Fie,  that  was  rude. 

Bayes.  Rude!  i'gad,  they  are  the  rudest,  uncivilest  persons,  and  all 
that,  in  the  whole  world:  i'gad,  there's  no  living  with  'em.  I  have 
written,  Mr.  Johnson,  I  do  verily  believe,  a  whole  cartload  of  things 
every  whit  as  good  as  this,  and  yet,  I  vow  to  gad,  these  insolent  rascals 
have  turn'd  'em  all  back  upon  my  hands  again. 

Johns.     Strange  fellows  indeed. 


ACT  II,  SCENE  III  399 

Svii.     But  pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  how  came  these  two  kings  to   know  of 
this  whisper?     For,  as  I  remember,  they  were  not  present  at  it. 
40        Bayes.     No,  but  that's  the  actors'  fault,  and  not  mine;  for  the  kings 
should   (a  pox  take  'em)   have  popp'd  both  their  heads  in  at  the  dcor, 
just  as  the  other  went  off. 

Smi.     That,  indeed,  would  ha'  done  it. 

Bayes.  Done  it!  Aye,  i'gad,  these  fellows  are  able  to  spoil  the  best 
things  in  Christendom.  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Johnson,  I  vow  to  gad,  I  have 
been  so  highly  disoblig'd  by  the  peremptoriness  of  these  fellows,  that  I 
am  resolv'd,  hereafter,  to  bend  all  my  tlioughts  for  the  service  of  the 
Nursery,  and  mump  your  proud  players,  i'gad. 

SCENE  III 

Enter  Prince  Pretty-man. 

Fret.     How  strange  a  captive  am  I  grown  of  late! 
Shall  I  accuse  my  love,  or  blame  my  fate? 
My  love,  I  cannot;  that  is  too  divine: 
And  against  fate  what  mortal  dares  repine? 

Enter  Cloris. 

But  here  she  comes. 

Sure  'tis  some  blazing  comet,  is  it  not?  [Lies  down. 

Bayes.     Blazing  comet!    Mark  that.     I'gad,  very  fine. 

Fret.     But  I  am  so  surpris'd  with  sleep,  I  cannot  speak  the  rest. 

[Sleeps. 

Bayes.  Does  not  that,  now,  surprise  you,  to  fall  asleep  just  in  the 
10  nick?  His  spirits  exliale  with  the  heat  of  his  passion,  and  all  that,  and 
swop  falls  asleep,  as  you  see.     Now,  here,  she  must  make  a  simile. 

Smi.     Where's  the  necessity  of  that,  Mr.  Bayes? 

Bayes.  Because  she 's  surpris  'd.  That 's  a  general  rule :  you  must 
ever  make  a  simile  when  you  are  surpris'd;  'tis  the  new  way  of  writing. 

Chloris.     As  some  tall  pine,  which  we  on  Etna  find 

T'have  stood  the  rage  of  many  a  boist'rous  wind, 
Feeling  without,  that  flames  within  do  play. 
Which  would  consume  his  root  and  sap  away; 
He  spreads  his  worsted  arms  unto  the  skies, 
20  Silently  grieves,  all  pale,  repines  and  dies: 

So,  shrouded  up.  your  bright  eye  disappears. 
Break  forth,  bright  scorching  sun,  and  dry  my  tears.      [Exit. 

Bayes.  I  am  afraid,  gentlemen,  this  scene  has  made  you  sad;  for 
I  must  confess,  when  I  writ  it,  I  wept  myself. 

Smi.  No,  truly,  sir,  my  spirits  are  almost  exhal'd  too,  and  I  am 
likelier  to  fail  asleep. 


400  THE  EEHEAESAL 

Prince  Pretty-man  starts  up,  and  says — 

Fret.     It  is  resolv'd.  [Exit. 

Smi.  Mr.  Bayos,  may  one  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you  a  question,  now, 
and  you  not  be  angry? 

30  Baycs.  O  Lord,  sir,  you  may  ask  me  what  you  please.  I  vow  to  gad, 
you  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honor:  you  do  not  know  me,  if  you  say 
that,  sir. 

Smi.  Then,  pray,  sir,  what  is  it  that  this  prince  here  has  resolv'd  in 
his  sleep? 

Baycs.  Why,  I  must  confess,  that  question  is  well  enough  ask'd,  for 
one  that  is  not  acquainted  with  this  new  way  of  writing.  But  you  must 
know,  sir,  that,  to  outdo  all  my  fellow-writers,  whereas  they  keep  their 
intrigo  secret  till  the  very  last  scene  before  the  dance;  I  now,  sir,  do  you 
mark  me a 

40  Smi.  Begin  the  play,  and  end  it,  without  ever  opening  the  plot 
at  all? 

Bayes.  I  do  so,  that's  the  very  plain  troth  on't:  ha,  ha,  ha;  I  do, 
i'gad.  If  they  cannot  find  it  out  themselves,  e'en  let  'em  alone  for 
Bayes,  I  warrant  you.  But  here,  noAV,  is  a  scene  of  business:  pray 
observe  it;  for  I  dare  say  you'll  think  it  no  unwise  discourse  this,  nor  ill 
argued.  To  tell  you  true,  'tis  a  debate  I  overheard  once  betwixt  tAvo 
grand,  sober,  governing  persons. 

SCENE  TV 
Enter  Gentleman-TJ slier   and  Physician. 

Ush.  Come,  sir;  let's  state  the  matter  of  fact,  and  lay  our  heads 
together. 

Phys.  Right :  lay  our  heads  together.  I  love  to  be  merry  some- 
times; but  when  a  knotty  point  comes,  I  lay  my  head  close  to  it.  with  a 
pipe  of  tobacco  in  my  mouth,  and  then  I  whew  it  away,  i'  faith. 

Bayes.     I  do  just  so,  i'gad,  always. 

Ush.  The  grand  question  is,  whether  they  heard  us  whisper?  Which 
I  divide  thus:  into  when  they  heard,  what  they  heard,  and  whether  they 
heard  or  no. 

10        Johns.     Most  admirably  divided,  I  swear. 

TJsh.  As  to  the  when;  you  say  just  now:  so  that  is  answer'd.  Then, 
for  what;  why,  what  answers  itself:  for  what  could  they  hear,  but  what 
we  talk'd  of?  So  that,  naturally,  and  of  necessity,  we  come  to  the  last 
question,  videlicet,  whether  they  heard  or  no? 

Smi.     This  is  a  very  wise  scene,  Mr.  Bayes. 

Bayes.  Yes;  you  have  it  right;  they  are  both  politicians.  I  writ 
this  scene  for  a  pattern,  to  shew  the  world  how  men  should  talk  of 
busioess, 


ACT  II,  SCENE  V  iOl 

Johns.     You  have  done  it  exceeding  well,  indeed. 
20        Bayes.     Yes,  I  think  this  will  do. 

Phys.  Well,  if  they  heard  us  whisper,  they'll  turn  us  out,  and  nobody 
else  will  take  us. 

Ush.     Nobody  else  will  take  us. 

Smi.     Not  for  politicians,  I  dare  answer  for  it. 

Fhys.     Let's  then  no  more  ourselves  in  vain  bemoan : 

We  arc  not  safe  until  we  them  unthrone. 
Vsh.     'Tis  right: 

And,  since  occasion  now  seems  debonair, 

I'll  seize  on  this,  and  you  shall  take  that  chair. 

[They  draw  their  swords,  and  sit  down  in 
the  two  great  chairs  upon  the  stage. 

30  Bayes.  There's  now  an  odd  surprise ;  the  whole  state's  turn'd  quite 
topsy-turvy,  without  any  putlior  or  stir  in  the  whole  world,  i  'gad. 

Johns.     A  very  silent  change  of  government,  truly,  as  ever  I  heard  of. 

Bayes.  It  is  so.  And  yet  you  shall  see  me  bring  'em  in  again,  by 
and  by,  in  as  odd  a  way  every  jot. 

[The  Usurpers  march  out  flourishing  their  swords. 

Enter  Shirley. 

Shir.  Hey  ho,  hey  ho:  what  a  change  is  here!  Hey  day,  hey  day! 
I  know  not  what  to  do,  nor  what  to  say.  [Exit. 

Smi.     But  pray,  sir,  how  came  they  to  depose  the  kings  so  easily? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir,  you  must  know,  they  long  had  a  design  to  do  it 
before;  but  never  could  put  it  in  practice  till  now:  and,  to  tell  you  true, 
40  that's  one  reason  why  I  made  'em  whisper  so  at  first. 

Smi.     O,  very  well:   now  I'm  fully  satisfied. 

Bayes.  And  then,  to  shew  you,  sir,  it  was  not  done  so  very  easily 
neither;  in  this  next  scene  you  shall  see  some  fighting. 

Smi.  O,  ho:  so  then  you  make  the  struggle  to  be  after  the  business 
is  done? 

Bayes.     Aye. 

Smi.     0,  I  conceive  you:  that  is  very  natural. 


SCENE  V 

Enter  four  men  at  one  door,  and  four  at  another,  with  their  swords 

drawn. 

1  Soldier.     Stand.    Who  goes  there? 

2  Sol.     A  friend. 

1  Sol.     What  friend? 

2  Sol.     A  friend  to  the  house. 

X  Sol,     J'all  on.  [They  all  hUl  one  another.    Music  strikes. 


402  THE  EEHEAESAL 

Bayes.     Hold,  hold.  [To  the  music.    It  ceaseth. 

Now  here's  an  odd  surprise:   all  these  dead  men  you  shall  see  rise  up 
presently,  at  a  certain  note  that  I  have  made,  in  effaiit  flat,  and  fall 
a  dancing.    Do  you  hear,  dead  men?    Eemember  your  note  in  effaut  flat. 
10  Play  on.  [To  the  music. 

Now,  now,  now.  [The  music  flay  his  note,  and  the  dead 

0  Lord,  O  Lord!  men  rise;  but  cannot  get  in  order. 
Out,  out,  out!  Did  ever  men  spoil  a  good  thing  so?  No  figure,  no  ear, 
no  time,  nothing?  You  dance  worse  than  the  angels  in  Harry  the  Eight, 
or  the  fat  spirits  in  The  Tempest,  i'gad. 

1  Sol.     Why,  sir,  'tis  impossible  to  do  anything  in  time,  to  this  tune. 
Bayes.     O  Lord,  0  Lord!  impossible?     Why,  gentlemen,  if  there  be 

any  faith  in  a  person  that's  a  Christian,  I  sate  up  two  whole  nights  in 
composing  this  air,  and  apting  it  for  the  business:  for,  if  you  observe, 
20  there  are  two  several  designs  in  this  tune;  it  begins  swift,  and  ends 
slow.  You  talk  of  time,  and  time;  you  shall  see  me  do  't.  Look  you 
now.     Here  I  am  dead.  [Lies  down  flat  on  his  face. 

Now  mark  my  note  in  effaut  flat.     Strike  up,  music. 
Now.  [As  he  rises  up  hastily,  he  tumhles  and  falls  doivn  again. 

Ah.  gadsookers,  I  have  broke  my  nose. 

Johns.  By  my  troth,  Mr.  Bayes,  this  is  a  very  unfortunate  note  of 
yours,  in  effaut  flat. 

Bayes.     A  plague  of  this  damn'd  stage,  with  your  nails,  and  your 
tenter-hooks,  that  a  man  cannot  come  to  teach  you  to  act,  but  he  must 
30  break  his  nose,  and  his  face,  and  the  divel  and  all.     Pray,  sir,  can  you 
help  me  to  a  wet  piece  of  brown  paper? 

tSmi.     No  indeed,  sir;   I  don't  usually  carry  any  about  me. 

2  Sol.     Sir,  I'll  go  get  you  some  within  presently. 

Bayes.     Go,  go  then ;  I  '11  follow  you.    Pray  dance  out  the  dance,  and 

1  '11  be  with  you  in  a  moment.  Eemember  you  four  that  you  dance  like 
horsemen.  [Exit  Bayfs. 

They  dance  the  dance,  hut  can  malce  nothing  of  it. 
1   Sol.     A   devil!    let's   try   this  no   more:    play   my   dance   that   Mr. 
Bayes  found  fault  with.  [Dance,  and  exeunt. 

Smi.     What  can  this  fool  be  doing  all  this  while  about  his  nose? 
40        Johns.    Pr'ythee,  let's  go  see.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IIL     SCENE  L 
Bayes  with  a  paper  on  his  nose,  and  the  tico  gentlemen. 

Bayes.  Now,  sir,  this  I  do,  because  my  fancy  in  this  play  is  to  end 
every  act  with  a  dance. 

Smi.  Faith,  that  fancy  is  very  good,  but  I  should  hardly  have  broke 
my  nose  for  it,  tho'. 

Johns.     That  fancy,  I  suppose,  is  new  too. 

Bayes.  Sir,  all  my  fancies  are  so.  I  tread  upon  no  man's  heels;  but 
make  my  flight  upon  my  own  wings,  I  assure  you.     As,  now,  this  next 


ACT  III,  SCENE  I  403 

scene,  some  perhaps  will  say  it  is  not  very  necessary  to  the  plot:  I  grant 
it;  what  then?  I  meant  it  so.  But  then  it's  as  full  of  drollery  as  ever 
10  it  can  hold :  'tis  like  an  orange  stuck  with  cloves,  as  for  conceit.  Come, 
where  are  you?  This  scene  will  make  you  die  with  laughing,  if  it  be 
well  acted :  it  is  a  scene  of  sheer  wit,  without  any  mixture  in  the  world, 
i'gad.  [Beads — 

"Enter  Prince  Pretty-man,  and  Tom  Thimble,  his  tailor." 

This,  sirs,  might  properly  enough  be  call'd  a  prize  of  wit ;  for  you  shall 
see  'em  come  in  upon  one  another  snip  snap,  hit  for  hit,  as  fast  as  can 
be.  First  one  speaks,  then  presently  t'other's  upon  him  slap,  with  a 
repartee ;  then  he  at  him  ag;iin,  dash  with  a  new  conceit :  and  so  eter- 
nally, eternally,  i'gad,  till  they  go  quite  off  the  stage. 

[Goes  to  call  the  Flayers. 

Smi.     What  a  plague  does  this  fop  mean  by  his  snip  snap,  hit  for 
20  hit,  and  dash? 

Johns.  Mean?  Why,  he  never  meant  anything  iu'a  life:  what  djst 
talk  of  meaning  for? 

Enter  Bates. 

Bayes.     Why  don't  you  come  in? 

Enter  Prince  Pretty-man  and  Tom  Thimble. 

Pret.  But  pr'ythee,  Tom  Thimble,  why  wilt  thou  needs  marry?  If 
nine  tailors  make  but  one  man;  and  one  woman  cannot  be  satisfied  with 
nine  men:  what  work  art  thou  cutting  out  here  for  thyself   trow  we? 

Bayes.     Good. 

Thim.  Why,  an't  please  your  Highness,  if  I  can't  make  up  all  the 
work  I  cut  out,  I  shan't  want  journeymen  to  help  me,  I  warrant  you. 

30        Bayes.     Good  again. 

Pret.  I  am  afraid  thy  journeymen,  tho ',  Tom,  won't  work  by  the 
day,  but  by  the  night. 

Bayes.     Good  still. 

Thim.  However,  if  my  wife  sits  but  cross-legg'd,  as  I  do,  there  will 
be  no  great  danger:  not  half  so  much  as  when  I  trusted  you  for  your 
coronation  suit. 

Bayes.     Very  good,  i'faith. 

Pret.     Why,  the  times  then  liv'd  upon  trust ;  it  was  the  fashion.    You 
would  not  be  out  of  time,  at  such  a   time  as  that,  sure:   a  tailor,  you 
40  know,  must  never  be  out  of  fashion. 

Bayes.     Right. 

Thim.  I'm  sure,  sir,  I  made  your  clothes  in  the  court  fashion,  for 
you  never  paid  me  yet. 


404  THE  EEHEAESAL 

Bayes.     There's  a  bob  for  the  court. 

Fret.  Why,  Tom,  thoii  art  a  sharp  rogue  when  thou  art  angry  I 
sec:   thou  pay'st  me  now,  methinks. 

Thivi.     Aye,  sir,  in  your  own  coin:   you  give  me  nothing  but  words. 

Bayes.     Admirable,  before  gad. 

Fret.     Well,  Tom,  I  hope  shortly  I  shall  have  another  coin  for  thee; 
50  for  now  the  wars  come  on,  I  shall  grow  to  be  a  man  of  metal. 

Bayes.     O,  you  did  not  do  that  half  enough. 
Johns.     Methinks  he  does  it  admirably. 

Bayes.  Aye,  pretty  well;  but  he  does  not  hit  me  in't:  he  does  not 
top  hiis  part. 

Thim.  That's  the  way  to  be  stamp'd  yourself,  sir.  I  shall  see  you 
come  home,  like  an  angel  for  the  king's  evil,  with  a  hole  bor'd  thro' 
you.  [Exeunt. 

Bayes.     That's  very  good,  i'f aith :   ha,  ha,  ha.     Ha,  there  he  has  hit 
it  up  to  the  hilts,  i'gad.     How  do  you  like  it  now,  gentlemen?     Is  not 
50  this  pure  wit? 

Smi.  'Tis  snip  snap,  sir,  as  you  say;  but,  methinks,  not  pleasant, 
nor  to  the  purpose,  for  the  play  does  not  go  on. 

Bayes.  Play  does  not  go  on?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean:  why,  is 
not  this  part  of  the  play? 

Umi.     Yes,  but  the  plot  stands  still. 

Bayes.  Plot  stand  still!  Why,  what  a  devil  is  the  plot  good  for, 
but  to  bring  in  fine  things? 

Smi.     O,  I  did  not  know  that  before. 

Bayes.     No,  I  think  you  did  not:  nor  many  things  more  that  I  am 
70  master  of.     Now,  sir,  i'gad,  this  is  the  bane  of  all  us  writers:   let  us 
soar  never  so  little  above  the  common  pitch,  i'gad,  all's  spoil'd ;   for  the 
vulgar  never  understand  us;  they  can  never  conceive  you,  sir,  the  excel- 
lency of  these  things. 

Johns.      'Tis  a  sad  fate,  I  must  confess;  but  you  write  on  still? 

Bayes.  Write  on?  Aye,  i'gad,  I  warrant  you.  'Tis  not  their  talk 
shall  stop  me:  if  they  catch  me  at  that  lock,  I'll  give  'em  leave  to  hang 
me.  As  long  as  I  know  my  things  to  be  good,  what  care  I  what  they 
say?    What,  they  are  gone,  and  forgot  the  song! 

Smi.     They  have  done  very  well,  methinks,  here's  no  need  of  one. 
80        Bayes.     Alack,  sir,  you  know  nothing;  you  must  ever  interlard  your 
plays  with  songs,  ghosts,  and  idols,  if  you  mean  to a 

Johns.     Pit,  box,  and  gallery,  Mr.  Bayes. 

Bayes.  I'gad,  sir,  and  you  have  nick'd  it.  Hark  you,  Mr.  Johnson, 
you  know  I  don 't  flatter,  a-gad,  you  have  a  great  deal  of  wit. 

Johns.     O  Lord,  sir,  you  do  me  too  much  honor. 

Bayes.  Nay,  nay,  come,  come,  Mr.  Johnson,  i'facks  this  must  not  be 
said,  amongst  us  that  have  it.  I  know  you  have  wit  by  the  judgment 
vou  make  of  this  play;  for  that's  the  measure  I  go  by:  my  play  is  my 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  405 

touchstone.  When  a  man  tells  me  such  a  one  is  a  person  of  parts ;  "  Is 
00  he  so?"  say  I.  What  do  I  do,  but  bring  him  presently  to  see  this  play. 
If  he  Likes  it,  I  know  what  to  think  of  him;  if  not,  your  most  humble 
servant,  sir,  I  '11  no  more  of  him,  upon  my  word,  I  thank  you.  I  am 
clara  voyant,  a-gad.     Now  here  we  go  on  to  our  business. 

SCENE  II 
Enter  the  two  Usurpers,  hand  i)i  hand. 

Ush.     But  what's  become  of  Volscius  the  great? 

His  presence  has  not  grac  'd  our  court  of  late. 
Phys.     I  fear  some  ill,  from  emulation  sprung, 

Has  from  us  that  illustrious  hero  wrung. 

Bayes.     Is  not  that  majestical? 

Smi.     Yes,  but  who  a  devil  is  that  Volscius? 

Bayes.     Why,  that's  a  prince  I  make  in  love  with  Parthenope. 

ami.     I  thank  you,  sir. 

Enter  Cordelio. 

Cor.     My  lieges,  news  from  Volscius  the  prince. 
10        TJsh.     His  news  is  welcome,  whatsoe'er  it  be. 

Smi.     How,  sir,  do  you  mean  that?     Whether  it  be  good  or  bad? 

Bayes.  Nay,  pray,  sir,  have  a  little  patience :  godsookers,  you  '11 
spoil  all  my  play.  Why,  sir,  'tis  impossible  to  answer  every  impertinent 
question  you  ask. 

Umi.     Cry  you  mercy,  sir. 

Cor.     His  Highness,  sirs,  commanded  me  to  tell  you 
That  the  fair  person  whom  you  both  do  know, 
Despairing  of  forgiveness  for  her  fault, 
In  a  deep  sorrow,  twice  she  did  attempt 
20  Upon  her  precious  life;   but,  by  the  care 
Of  standers-by,  prevented  was. 

Umi.     'Sheart,  what  stuff's  here! 

Cor.  At   last, 

Volscius  the  great  this  dire  resolve  embrac'd: 
His  servants  he  into  the  country  sent, 
And  he  himself  to  Piccadille  went. 
Where  he's  inform'd,  by  letters,  that  she's  dead! 

TJsh.     Dead!  is  that  possible?    Dead! 

Thys.  O  ye  gods !  {Exeunt. 

30        Bayes.     There's  a  smart  expression  of  a  passion;  O  ye  gods!     That's 
one  of  my  bold  strokes,  a-gad. 

Smi.     Yes;  but  who  is  the  fair  person  that's  dead? 
Bayes.     That  you  shall  know  anon. 


406  THE  BEHEAESAL 

Smi.     Nay,  if  we  know  it  at  all,  "tis  well  enough. 

Baycs.  Perhaps  you  may  find  too,  by  and  by,  for  all  this,  that  she's 
not  dead  neither. 

Smi.     Marry,  that's  good  news:  I  am  glad  of  that  with  all  my  heart. 

Bayes.  Now,  here's  the  man  brought  in  that  is  suppos'd  to  have 
kill'd  her.  [-4  great  shout  tvithin. 

Enter  Amarillis  with  a  book  in  her  hand  and  Attendants. 

40        Ama.     What  shout  +riumphant's  that? 

Enter  a  Soldier. 

Sol.     Shy  maid,  upon  the  river  brink. 
Near  Twick'nam  town,  the  assassinate  is  ta'en. 

Ama.     Thanks  to  the  powers  above,  for  this  deliverance. 
I  hope  its  slow  beginning  will  portend 
A  forward  exit  to  all  future  end. 

Bayes.  Pish,  there  you  are  out;  to  all  future  end?  No,  no;  to  all 
future  end;  you  must  lay  the  accent  upon  end,  or  else  you  lose  the 
conceit. 

Johns.  Indeed  the  alteration  of  that  accent  does  a  great  deal,  Mr. 
50  Bayes. 

Baycs.  0,  all  in  all,  sir:  they  are  these  little  things  that  mar,  or  set 
you  off  a  play. 

Smi.     I  see  you  are  very  perfect  in  these  matters. 

Bayes.     Aye,  sir;  I  have  been  long  enough  at  it  to  know  something. 

Enter  Soldiers  dragging  in  an  old  -fisherman. 

Ama.     Villain,  what  monster  did  corrupt  thy  mind 
T 'attack  the  noblest  soul  of  humankind? 
Tell  me  who  set  thee  on. 

Fish.     Prince  Pretty-man. 

Ama.     To  kill  whom? 
60        Fish.     Prince  Pretty-man. 

Ama.  What,  did  Prince  Pretty-man  hire  you  to  kill  Prince  Pretty- 
man? 

Fish.     No;  Prince  Volscius. 

Ama.     To  kill  whom? 

Fish.     Prince  Volscius.  / 

Ama.     W^hat,  did  Prince  Volscius  hire  you  to  kill  Prince  Volscius? 

Fish.     No;   Prince  Pretty-man. 

Ama.     So,  drag  him  hence, 

Till  torture  of  the  rack  produce  his  sense.  [Exeunt, 

70        Bayes.     Mark  how  I  make  the  horror  of  his  guilt  confound  his  intel- 
lects; for  that's  the  design  of  this  scene. 

Smi,     I  see,  sir,  you  have  a  several  design  for  every  scene. 
Bayes.     Aye;  that's  my  way  of  writing:  and  so  I  can  dispatch  you, 
sir,  a  whole  play,  before  another  man,  i'gad,  can  make  an  end  of  his 


ACT  III,  SCENE  II  407 

plot.  So,  now  enter  Prince  Pretty-man  in  a  rage.  Where  the  devil  is 
he?  Why  Pretty-man?  why  when,  I  say?  0  fie,  fie,  fie,  fie;  all 's  marr'd, 
I  vow  to  gad,  quite  marr'd. 

Enter  Pretty-man, 

Phoo,  pox!   you  are  come  too  late,  sir:  now  you  may  go  out  again,  if 

you  please.     I  vow  to  gad,  Mr. a 1  would  not  give  a  button  for 

80  my  play,  now  you  have  done  this. 

Fret.     What,  sir? 

Bayes.  What,  sir?  'Slife,  sir,  you  should  have  come  out  in  choler, 
rous  upon  the  stage,  just  as  the  other  went  off.  Must  a  man  be  eternally 
telling  you  of  these  things? 

Johns.  Sure  this  must  be  some  very  notable  matter  that  he's  so 
angry  at. 

Umi.     I  am  not  of  your  opinion. 

Bayes.     Pish!  come,  let's  hear  your  part,  sir. 


90 


Pret.     Bring  in  my  father,  why  d'ye  keep  him  from  me? 
Altho '  a  fisherman,  he  is  my  father : 
Was  ever  son  yet  brought  to  this  distress. 
To  be,  for  being  a  son,  made  fatherless? 
O,  you  just  gods,  rob  me  not  of  a  father: 
The  being  of  a  son  take  from  me  rather.  [Exit. 

Smi.     Well,  Ned,  what  think  you  now? 

Johns.  A  devil,  this  is  worst  of  all.  Pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  what's  the 
meaning  of  this  scene? 

Bayes.     O,  cry  you  mercy,  sir:    I  purtest   I  had  forgot  to  tell  you. 
Why,  sir,  you  must  know  that,  long  before  the  beginning  of  this  play, 
100  this  prince  was  taken  by  a  fisherman. 

iSmi.     How,  sir,  taken  prisoner? 

Bayes.  Taken  prisoner!  0  Lord,  what  a  question's  there!  Did  ever 
any  man  ask  such  a  question?  Taken  prisoner!  Godsookers,  he  has  put 
the  plot  quite  out  of  my  head,  with  this  damn'd  question.  What  was  I 
going  to  say? 

Johns.     Nay,  the  Lord  knows:   I  cannot  imagine. 

Bayes.     Stay,  let  me  see;   taken:    O,  'tis  true.     Why,  sir,  as  I  was 
going  to  say,  his  Highness  here,  the  prince,  was  taken  in  a  cradle  by  a 
fisherman,  and  brought  up  as  his  child. 
110         Umi.     Indeed? 

Bayes.  Nay,  pr'ythee  hold  thy  peace.  And  so,  sir,  this  murder 
being  committed  by  the  river  side,  the  fisherman,  upon  suspicion,  was 
seiz'd;    and  thereupon  the  prince  grew  angry. 

iSmt.     So,  so;  now  'tis  very  plain. 

Johns.  But,  Mr.  Bayes,  is  not  that  some  disparagement  to  a  prince, 
to  pass  for  a  fisherman's  son?     Have  a  care  of  that,  I  pray. 

Bayes.  No,  no,  no;  not  at  all;  for  'tis  but  for  a  while:  I  shall  fetch 
him  off  again,  presently,  you  shall  see. 


120 


408  THE  EEHEAKSAL 

Enter  Pretty-man  and  Thimble. 

Pret.     By  all  the  gods,  I'll  set  the  world  on  fire 
Bather  than  let  'em  ravish  hence  my  sire. 
Thim.     Brave  Pretty-man,  it  is  at  length  reveal'd. 
That  he  is  not  thy  sire  who  thee  conceal'd. 


Bayes.     Lo"  you  now,  there  he's  off  again. 

Johns.     Admirably  done  i'faith. 

Bayes.     Aye,  now  the  plot  thickens  very  much  upon  us. 

Pret.     What  oracle  this  darkness  can  evince? 

Sometimes  a  fisher's  son,  sometimes  a  prince. 
It  is  a  secret,  great  as  is  the  world; 
In  which  I,  like  the  soul,  am  toss  'd  and  hurl  'd. 
15Q  The  blackest  ink  of  fate,  sure,  was  my  lot; 

And,  when  she  writ  my  name,  she  made  a  blot.  lExit. 

Bayes.     There's  a  blust'ring  verse  for  you  now. 

Smi.  Yes,  sir;  but  pray,  why  is  he  so  mightily  troubled  to  find  he 
is  not  a  fisherman's  son? 

Bayes.  Phoo!  That  is  not  because  he  has  a  mind  to  be  his  son,  but 
for  fear  he  should  be  thought  to  be  nobody's  son  at  all. 

Smi.     Aye,  that  would  trouble  a  man,  indeed. 

Bayes.     So,  let  me  see:  "Enter  Prince  Volseius,  going  out  of  town." 

Smi.     I  thought  he  had  been  gone  to  Piccadille. 
14C        Bayes.     Yes,  he  gave  out  so;  but  that  was  only  to  cover  his  design. 

Johns.     What  design? 

Bayes.  Why,  to  head  the  army  that  lies  conceal'd  for  him  in 
Knightsbridge. 

Johns.     I  see  here  is  a  great  deal  of  plot,  Mr.  Bayes. 

Bayes.  Yes,  now  it  begins  to  break;  but  we  shall  have  a  world  of 
more  business  anon. 

Enter  Prince  VoLScius,  Cloris,  Amarillis,  and  Harry  with  a  riding- 
cloak  and  boots. 

Ama.     Sir,  you  are  cruel,  thus  to  leave  the  town. 
And  to  retire  to  country  solitude. 

Clo.     We  hop'd  this  summer  that  we  should  at  least 
150  Have  held  the  honor  of  your  company. 

Bayes.  Held  the  honor  of  your  company!  Prettily  express'd!  Held 
the  honor  of  your  company!  Godsookers,  these  fellows  will  never  take 
notice  of  anything. 

Johns.  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  admire  it  extremely;  I  don't  know  what 
he  does. 

Bayes.  Aye,  aye,  he's  a  little  envious;  but  'tis  no  great  matter. 
Come. 

Ama.     Pray  let  us  two  this  single  boon  obtain, 

That  you  will  here  with  poor  us  still  remain. 


ACT  HI,  SCENE  il  409 

180  Before  your  horses  come,  pronounce  our  fate, 

For  then,  alas,  I  fear  'twill  be  too  late. 

Bayes.     Sad ! 

Vols.     Harry,  my  boots;   for  I'll  go  rage  among 
My  blades  encamp'd,  and  quit  this  urban  throng. 

Smi.  But  pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  is  not  this  a  little  difficult,  that  you  were 
saying  e'en  now,  to  keep  an  army  thus  conceal 'd  in  Knightsbridge? 

Bayes.     In  Knightsbridge?     Stay. 

Johns.     No,  not  if  the  innkeepers  be  his  friends. 

Bayes.  His  friends!  Aye,  sir,  his  intimate  acquaintance;  or  else, 
170  indeed,  I  grant  it  could  not  be. 

Smi.     Yes,  faith,  so  it  might  be  very  easily. 

Bayes.  Nay,  if  I  do  not  make  all  things  easy,  i'gad,  I'll  give  you 
leave  to  hang  me.  Now  you  would  think  that  he  is  going  out  of  town ; 
but  you  shall  see  how  prettily  I  have  contriv'd  to  stop  him  presently. 

Smi.  By  my  troth,  sir,  you  have  so  amaz'd  me,  I  know  not  what  to 
think. 

Enter  Parthenope. 

Vols.     Bless  me!     How  frail  are  all  my  best  resolves! 

How,  in  a  moment,  is  my  purpose  chang'd ! 

Too  soon   I  thought  myself  secure  from  love. 
IgO  Fair  madam,  give  me  leave  to  ask  her  name 

Who  does  so  gently  rob  me  of  my  fame? 

For  I  should  meet  the  army  out  of  town, 

And,  if  I  fail,  must  hazard  my  renown. 
Par.      j\Iy  mother,  sir,  sells  ale-  by  the  town  walls. 

And  me  her  dear  Parthenope  she  calls. 
Vols.     Can  vulgar  vestments  high  born  beauty  shroud? 
Thou  bring 'st  the  morning  pieturM  in  a  cloud. 

Bayes.  The  morning  pictur'd  in  a  cloud!  A,  gadsookers,  what  a 
conceit  is  there! 

190        Par.     Give  you  good  ev"n,  sir.  [Exit. 

Vols.     O  inauspicious  stars!  that  I  was  born 

To  sudden  love,  and  to  more  sudden  scorn ! 
Ama.     Claris.     How!      Prince  Volscius  in  love?     Ha,  ha,  ha. 

[Exeunt  laughing. 

Smi.  Sure,  Mr.  Bayes,  we  have  lost  some  jest  here,  that  tlicy  laugh 
at  so. 

Bayes.  Wliy,  did  you  not  observe?  He  first  resolves  to  go  out  of 
tow^n,  and  then,  as  he  is  pulling  on  liis  boots,  falls  in  love.     Ha,  ha,  ha. 

Smt.     O,  1  did  not  observe:  that,  indeed,  is  a  very  good  jest. 

Bayes.  Here,  now,  you  shall  see  a  combat  betwixt  love  and  honor. 
200  An  ancient  author  has  made  a  whole  play  on  "t;  but  I  have  dispatch'd 
it  all  in  this  scene. 


410  THE  KEIIEAESAL 

VoLSCius  sits  doicn. 

Vols.     How  has  my  passion  made  me  Cupid's  scoff! 
This  hasty  boot  is  on,  the  other  off, 
And  sullen  lies,  with  amorous  design 
To  quit  loud  fame,  and  make  that  beauty  mine. 
My  legs,  the  emblem  of  my  various  thought. 
Shew  to  what  sad  distraction  I  am  brought. 
Sometimes,  with  stubborn  honor,  like  this  boot, 
My  mind  is  guarded,  and  resolv'd  to  do  't: 
210  Sometimes,  again,  that  very  mind,  by  love 

Disarmed,  like  this  other  leg  does  prove. 

Johns.     What  pains  Mr.  Bayes  takes  to  act  this  speech  himself! 
iimi.     Aye,  the  fool,  I  see,  is  mightily  transported  with  it. 

Vols.     Shall  I  to  honor  or  to  love  give  way? 

"Go  on,"  cries  Honor;  tender  Love  says,  "Nay:" 
Honor,  aloud,  commands:    "Pluck  both  boots  on;" 
But  softer  Love  does  whisper:    "Put  on  none." 
What  shall  I  do?     What  conduct  shall  I  find 
To  lead  me  thro'  this  twilight  of  my  mind? 
220  For  as  bright  day  with  black  approach  of  nigh 

Contending,  makes  a  doubtful  puzzling  light; 
So  does  my  honor  and  my  love  together 
Puzzle  me  so,  I  can  resolve  for  neither. 

[Exit  icith  one  hoot  on  and  the  other  of. 

Johns.  By  my  troth,  sir,  this  is  as  difficult  a  combat  as  ever  I  saw, 
and  as  equal;  for  'tis  determin'd  on  neither  side. 

Bayes.  Aye,  is't  not,  i'gad,  ha?  Eor,  to  go  off  hip  hop,  hip  hop, 
upon  this  occasion,  is  a  thousand  times  better  than  any  conclusion  in  the 
world,  i'gad.  But,  sirs,  you  cannot  make  any  judgment  of  this  play, 
because  we  are  come  but  to  the  end  of  the  second  act.    Come,  the  dance. 

[Dance. 

230  Well,  gentlemen,  you'll  see  this  dance,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  take  very 

well  upon  the  stage,  when  they  are  perfect  in  their  motions,  and  all  that. 

Sim.     1  don't  know  'twill  take,  sir;   but  I  am  sure  you  sweat  hard 

for  't. 

Bayes.  Aye,  sir,  it  costs  me  more  pains,  and  trouble,  to  do  these 
things,  than  almost  the  things  are  worth. 

Smi.     By  my  troth,  I  think  so,  sir. 

Bayes.  Not  for  the  things  themselves,  for  I  could  write  you,  sir, 
forty  of  'em  in  a  day;  but,  i'gad,  these  players  are  such  dull  persons, 
that,  if  a  man  be  not  by  upon  every  point,  and  at  every  turn,  i'gad, 
240  they'll  mistake  you,  sir,  and  spoil  all. 


Enter  a  Player. 


What,  is  the  funeral  ready? 
Play.     Yes,  sir. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  411 

Bayes.     And  is  the  lance  fill'd  with  wine? 

Flay.     Sir,  'tis  just  now  a  doing. 

Bayes.     Stay  then;  I"ll  do  it  myself. 

Smi.     Come,  let 's  go  with  him. 

Bayes  A  match.  But,  Mr.  Johnson,  i'gad,  I  am  not  like  other 
persons;  they  care  not  what  becomes  of  their  things,  so  they  can  but  get 
money  for  'em:  now,  i'gad,  when  1  write,  if  it  be  not  just  as  it  should 
250  be,  in  every  circumstance,  to  every  particular,  i'gad,  I  am  not  able  to 
endure  it,  I  am  not  myself,  I'm  out  of  my  wits,  and  all  that;  I'm  the 
strangest  person  in  the  whole  world.  For  what  care  I  for  my  money? 
i'gad,  I  write  for  fame  and  reputation.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  rV.     SCENE  I. 
Bayes,  and  the  two  gentlemen. 

Bayes.  Gentlemen,  because  I  would  not  have  any  two  things  alike 
in  this  play,  the  last  act  beginning  with  a  witty  scene  of  mirth,  I  make 
this  to  begin  with  a  funeral. 

Smi.     And  is  that  all  your  reason  for  it,  Mr.  Bayes? 

Bayes.  No,  sir;  I  have  a  precedent  for  it  too.  A  person  of  honor, 
and  a  scholar,  brought  in  his  funeral  just  so;  and  he  was  one,  let  me  tell 
you,  that  knew  as  well  what  belong'd  to  a  funeral,  as  any  man  in 
England,  i'gad. 

Johns.     Nay,  if  that  be  so,  you  are  safe. 
jQ        Bayes.     I'gad,  but  I  have  another  device,  a  frolic,  -vrhieh  I  think  yet 
better  than  all  this;   not  for  the  plot  or  characters   (for,  in  my  heroic 
plays,  I  make  no  difference  as  to  those  matters),  but  for  another  con- 
trivance. 

ami.     What  is  that,  I  pray? 

Bayes.  Why,  I  have  design'd  a  conquest,  that  cannot  possibly,  i'gad, 
be  acted  in  less  than  a  whole  week:  and  I'll  speak  a  bold  word,  it  shall 
drum,  trumpet,  shout,  and  battle,  i'gad,  with  any  the  most  warlike 
tragedy  we  have,  either  ancient  or  modern. 

Johns.     Aye,  marry,  sir;   there  you  say  something. 

29  Smi.     And  pray,  sir,  how  have  you  order'd  this  same  frolic  of  yours? 
Bayes.     Faith,    sir,    by    the    rule    of    romance.      For    example:    they 

divide  their  things  into  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  or  as  many 
tomes  as  they  please:  now,  I  would  very  fain  know,  what  should  hinder 
me  from  doing  the  same  with  my  things,  if  I  please. 

Johns.  Nay,  if  you  should  not  be  master  of  your  own  works,  'tis 
very  hard. 

Bayes.  That  is  my  sense.  And  therefore,  sir,  whereas  every  one 
makes  five  acts  to  one  play,  what  do  me  I,  but  make  five  plays  to  one 
plot:  by  which  means  the  auditors  have  every  day  a  new  thing. 

30  Johns.     Most    admirably    good,    i'faith!     and    must    certainly    take, 
because  it  is  not  tedious. 

Bayes.  Aye,  sir.  I  know  that;  there's  the  main  point.  And  then, 
upon    Saturday,    to    make    a    close    of    all    (for    I    ever    begin    upon    a 


412  THE  EEHEAKSAL 

Monday),  I  make  you,  sir,  a  sixth  play,  that  sums  up  the  whole  matte? 
to  "em,  and  all  that,  for  fear  they  should  have  forgot  it. 

Johns.  That  consideration,  Mr.  Bayes,  indeed,  I  think,  will  be  very 
necessary. 

Smi.     And  when  comes  in  your  share,  pray,  sir? 

Bayes.     The  third  week. 
40        Johns.     I  vow,  you'll  get  a  world  of  money. 

Bayes.  Why,  faith,  a  man  must  live:  and  if  you  don't,  thus,  pitcb 
upon  some  new  device,  i'gad,  you'll  never  do  it,  for  this  age  (take  it  o' 
my  word)  is  somewhat  hard  to  please.  There  is  one  pretty  odd  passage, 
in  the  last  of  these  plays,  which  may  be  executed  two  several  ways, 
wherein  I  'd  have  your  opinion,  gentlemen. 

Johns.     Well,  what  is't  I 

Bayes.     Why,  sir,  I  make  a  male  person  to  be  in  love  with  a  female. 

iSmi.     Do  you  mean  that,  Mr.  Bayes,  for  a  new  thing? 

Bayes.  Yes,  sir,  as  I  have  order'd  it.  You  shall  hear.  He  having 
50  passionately  lov  'd  her  thro '  my  five  whole  plays,  finding  at  last  that 
she  consents  to  his  love,  just  after  that  his  mother  had  appear'd  to  him 
like  a  ghost,  he  kills  himself.  That's  one  way.  The  other  is,  that  she 
coming  at  last  to  love  him,  with  as  violent  a  passion  as  he  lov'd  her,  she 
kills  herself.  Now  my  question  is,  which  of  these  two  persons  should 
suffer  upon  this  occasion? 

Johns.     By  my  troth,  it  is  a  very  hard  case  to  decide. 

Bayes.  The  hardest  in  the  world,  i'gad;  and  has  puzzled  this  pate 
very  much.     WHiat  say  you,  Mr.  Smith  ? 

Smi.     W'hy,  truly,  Mr.  Bayes,  if  it  might  stand  with  your  justice,  I 
eO  should  now  spare  'em  both. 

Bayes.     I'gad,  and  I  think ha why  then,  I'll  make  him  hinder 

her  from  killing  herself.     Aye,  it  shall  be  so.     Come,  come,  bring  in  the 
funeral. 

Filter  a  funeral,  with  the  two  Usurpers  and  attendants. 

Lay  it  down  there:  no,  here,  sir.     So,  now  speak. 

K.  Ush.     Set  down  the  funeral  pile,  and  let  our  grief 

Eeceive,  from  its  embraces,  some  relief. 
K.  Phys.     Was't  not  unjust  to  ravish  hence  her  breath, 

And,  in  life's  stead,  to  leave  us  naught  but  death? 

The  world  discovers  now  its  emptiness, 
70  And,  by  her  loss,  demonstrates  we  have  less. 

Bayes.  Is  not  that  good  language  now?  Is  not  that  elevate?  It's 
my  non  ultra,  i'gad.    You  must  know  they  were  both  in  love  with  her. 

ami.     With  her?  with  whom? 

Bayes.     Why,  this  is  Lardella's  funeral. 

Smi.     Lardella!     Aye,  who  is  she? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir,  the  sister  of  Drawcansir;  a  lady  that  was  drown'd 
at  sea,  and  had  a  wave  for  her  winding-sheet. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  413 

K.  Ush.     Lardella,  O  Lardella,  from  above, 
Behold  the  tragic  issue  of  our  love. 
Pity  us,  sinking  under  grief  and  pain, 
For  thy  being  cast  away  upon  the  main. 

Bayes.     Look  you  now,  you  see  I  told  you  true. 

Smi.     Aye,  sir,  and  I  thank  you  for  it,  very  kindly. 

Bayes.     Aye,    i'gad,    but   you    will    not   have    patience;    honest    Mr. 

-a you  will  not  have  patience. 


Johns.     Pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  who  is  that  Drawcansirl 

Bayes.     Why,  sir,  a  fierce  hero,  that  frights  his  mistress,  snubs  up 
kings,    baffles   armies,   and   does   what   he   will,   without   regard   to   good 
manners,  justice,  or  numbers. 
^        Johns.     A  very  pretty  character. 

Smi.  But,  Mr.  Bayes,  I  thought  your  heroes  had  ever  been  men  of 
great   humanity   and  justice. 

Bayes.  Yes,  they  have  been  so;  but,  for  my  part,  I  prefer  that  one 
quality  of  singly  beating  of  whole  armies,  above  all  your  moral  virtues 
put  together,  i'gad.  You  shall  see  him  come  in  presently.  Zookers,  why 
don't  you  read  the  paper?  {To  the  Players. 

K.  Phys.     O,  cry  you  mercy.  [Goes  to  take  the  paper. 

Bayes.  Pish!  Nay,  you  are  such  a  fumbler.  Come,  I'll  read  it 
myself.  [Takes  a  paper  from  of  the  coffin. 

100  Stay,  it's  an  ill  hand,  I  must  use  my  spectacles.  This,  now,  is  a  copy  of 
verses,  which  I  make  Lardella  compose,  just  as  she  is  dying,  with  design 
to  have  it  pinn'd  on  her  cofiin,  and  so  read  by  one  of  the  usurpers,  who 
is  her  cousin. 

iSmi.     A  very  shrewd  design  that,  upon  my  word,  Mr.  Bayes. 

Bayes.  And  what  do  you  think  I  fancy  her  to  make  love  like,  here, 
in  the  paper? 

Smi.     Like  a  woman:   what  should  she  make  love  like? 

Bayes.     0'  my  word,  you  are  out  tho',  sit-  i'gad  you  are. 

Smi.     "What  then?    Like  a  man? 
110        Bayes.     No,  sir;  like  a  bumblebee. 

Smi.     I  confess,  that  I  should  not  have  fancied. 

Bayes.  It  may  be  so,  sir.  But  it  is,  tho ',  in  order  to  the  opinion 
of  some  of  your  ancient  philosophers,  v.ho  held  the  transmigration  of 
the  soul. 

Smi.     "Very  fine. 

Bayes.     I  '11  read  the  title.     To  my  dear  com,  King  Phys. 

Smi.  That's  a  little  too  familiar  with  a  king,  tho',  sir,  by  your 
favor,  for  a  bumblebee. 

Bayes.     Mr.   Smith,  for  other  things,  I  grant  your  knowledge  may 
120  be  above  me;  but,  as  for  poetry,  give  me  leave  to  say,  I  understand  that 
better:  it  has  been  longer  my  practice;  it  has  indeed,  sir. 

Smi.     Your  servant,  sir. 

Bayes.     Pray  mark  it:  [Eead^. 

"Since  death  my  earthly  part  will  thus  remove, 
I  '11  come  a  bumblebee  to  your  chaste  love. 
With  silent  wings  I  '11  follow  you,  dear  couz; 


.) 


414  THE  EEHEAKSAL 

Or  else,  before  you,  in  the  sunbeams  buzz. 
■  And  when  to  melancholy  groves  you  come,  ^ 

An  airy  ghost,  you'll  know  me  by  my  hum;  L 

.cQ  For  sound,  being  air,  a  ghost  does  well  become."  J 

Smi.         [After  a  pause.]     Admirable! 
Bayes.     "At  night,  into  your  bosom  I  will  creep, 

And  buzz  but  softly  if  you  chance  to  sleep: 
Yet,  in  your  dreams,  I  will  pass  sweeping  by, 
And  then,  both  hum  and  buzz  before  your  eye." 
Johns.     By  my  troth,  that's  a  very  great  promise. 
Smi.     Yes,  and  a  most  extraordinary  comfort  to  boot. 
Bayes.     "Your  bed  of  love  from  dangers  I  will  free; 
But  most,  from  love  of  any  future  bee. 
140  And  when,  with  pity,  your  heartstrings  shall  crack, 

With  empty  arms  I  '11  bear  you  on  my  back. ' ' 
Smi.     A  pick-a-pack,  a  pick-a-pack. 

Bayes.     Aye,  i'gad,  but  is  not  that  tuant  now,  ha?     Is  it  not  tuant? 
Here's  the  end: 

' '  Then,  at  your  birth  of  immortality, 

Like  any  winged  archer,  hence  I'll  fly. 

And  teach  you  your  first  flutt  'ring  in  the  sky. 

Johns.     O  rare!     It  is  the  most  natural,  refin'd  fancy  this,  that  ever 

I  heard,  I'll  swear. 

150        Bayes.     Yes,  I  think,  for  a  dead  person,  it  is  a  good  enough  way  of 

making  love;  for,  being  divested  of  her  terrestrial  part,  and  all  that,  she 

is  only  capable  of  these  little,  pretty,  amorous  designs  that  are  innocent, 

and  yet  passionate.     Come,  draw  your  swords. 

K.  Phys.     Come,  sword,  come  sheathe  thyself  within  this  breast, 

That  only  in  Lardella's  tomb  can  rest. 
K.  Ush.      Come,  dagger,  come,  and  penetrate  this  heart, 

"Which  cannot  from  Lardella's  love  depart. 

Enter  Pallas. 

Pal.     Hold,  stop  your  murd'ring  hands 
At  Pallas 's  commands: 
jgO  For  the  supposed  dead,  O  kings. 

Forbear  to  act  such  deadly  things. 

Lardella  lives:   I  did  but  try 

If  princes  for  their  loves  could  die. 

Such  celestial  constancy 

Shall  by  the  gods  rewarded  be: 

And  from  these  funeral  obsequies 

A  nuptial  banquet  shall  arise. 

[The  coffin  opens,  and  a  banquet  is  discovered. 

Bayes.     Now  it's  out.     This  is  the  very  funeral  of  the   fair  person 
•which  Volscius  sent  word  was  dead,  and  Pallas,  you  see,  has  turn'd  it 
170  into  a  banquet.  .  ,  • 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  I  415 

Johns.     By  my  troth,  now,  that  is  new,  and  more  than  I  expected. 

Bayes.  Yes,  I  knew  this  would  please  you;  for  the  chief  art  in 
poetry  is  to  elevate  your  expectation,  and  then  bring  you  off  some 
extraordinary  way. 

K.  Vsh.     Resplendent  Pallas,  we  in  thee  do  find 
The  fiercest  beauty,  and  a  fiercer  mind: 
And  since  to  thee  Lardella's  life  we  owe. 
We'll  supple  statues  in  thy  temple  grow. 
K.  Phys.     Well,  since  alive  Lardella's  found, 
180  Let,  in  full  bowls,  her  health  go  round. 

[The  iivo  Usurpers  take  each  of  them  a  boivl  in  their  hands, 
K.  Vsh.     But  Where's  the  wine? 
Pal.     That  shall  be  mine. 

Lo,   from  this  conquering  lance, 
Does  flow  the  purest  wine  of  France: 

[Fills  the  howls  out  of  her  lance. 
And,  to  appease  your  hunger.  I 
Have,  in  my  helmet,  brought  a  pie: 
Lastly,  to  bear  a  part  with  these. 
Behold  a  buckler  made  of  cheese.  [Vanish  Pallas. 

Enter  Drawcansir. 

K.  Phys.     What  man  is  this  that  dares  disturb  our  feast? 
190         Draw.     He  that  dares  drink,  an<l  for  that  drink  dares  die. 
And,  knowing  this,  dares  yet  drink  on,  am  1. 

Johns.     That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  tho'  he  would  rather  die 
than  not  drink,  yet  he  would  fain  drink  for  all  that  too. 
Bayes.     Right;  that's  the  conceit  on  't. 
Johns.     'Tis  a  marvelous  good  one,  I  swear. 

K.  Vsh.     Sir,  if  you  please,  we  should  be  glad  to  know 

How  long  you  here  will  stay,  how  soon  you'll  go. 

Bayes.     Is  not  that  now  like  a  well-bred  person,  i'gad?     So  modest, 
so  gent ! 
200        Smi.     0,  very  like. 

Draw.     You  shall  not  know  how  long  I  here  will  stay; 
But  you  shall  know  I'll  take  my  bowls  away. 
[Snatches  the  bowls  out  of  the  Icings'  hands,  and  drinks  'cm  off. 

Smi.     But,  Mr.  Bayes,  is  that  too  modest  and  gent? 
Bayes.     No,  i'gad,  sir,  but  it's  great. 

K.  Vsh.     Tho',  brother,  this  grum  stranger  be  a  clown. 

He'll  leave  us,  sure,  a  little  to  gulp  down. 
Draw.     Whoe'er  to  gulp  one  drop  of  this  dares  think, 
I'll  stare  away  his  very  pow'r  to  drink. 

[The  two  kings  sneak  off  the  stage,  with  their  attendants. 


416  THE  REHEARSAL 

I  drink,  I  huff,  I  strut,  look  big  and  stare; 
210  And  all  this  I  can  do,  because  I  dare.  [Exit, 

Smi.     I  suppose,  Mr.  Bayes,  this  is  the  fierce  hero  you  spoke  of. 

Bayes.  Yes;  but  this  is  nothing:  you  shall  see  him,  in  the  last  act, 
win  above  a  dozen  battles,  one  after  another,  i'gad,  as  fast  as  they  can 
possibly  be  represented. 

Johns.     That  will  be  a  sight  worth  seeing,  indeed. 

jS?)j?.  But  pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  why  do  you  make  the  kings  let  him  use 
'em  so  scurvily? 

Bayes.     Phoo!     That  is  to  raise  the  character  of  Drawcansir. 

Johns.     O'  my  word,  that  was  well  thought  on. 
220        Bayes.     Now,  sir,   I'll  shew  you   a   scene  indeed;   or  rather,  indeed, 
the  scene  of  scenes.     'Tis  an  heroic  scene. 

Smi.     And  pray,  sir,  what  is  your  design  in  this  scene? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir,  my  design  is  Roman  clothes,  gilded  truncheons, 
forc'd  conceit,  smooth  verse,  and  a  rant:  in  fine,  if  this  scene  does  not 

take,  i'gad,  I'll  write  no  more.     Come,  come  in,  Mr. a nay,  come 

in  as  many  as  you  can.     Gentlemen,   I  must   desire  you   to   remove  a 
little,  for  I  must  fill  the  stage. 

Smi.     Why  fill  the  stage? 

Bayes.     O,   sir,   because   your   heroic   verse    never   sounds   well,    but 
230  when  the  stage  is  full. 

SCENE  II 

Enter  Prince  Pretty-man  and  Prince  Volscius. 

Nay,  hold,  hold;  pray  by  your  leave  a  little.  Look  you,  sir,  the 
drift  of  this  scene  is  somewhat  more  than  ordinary:  for  I  make  'em 
both  fall  out  because  they  are  not  in  love  with  the  same  woman. 

Smi.  Not  in  love?  You  mean,  I  suppose,  because  they  are  in  love, 
Mr.   Bayes? 

Bayes.  No,  sir;  I  say  not  in  love:  there's  a  new  conceit  for  you. 
Now,  speak. 

Pret.     Since  fate.  Prince  Volscius,  has  found  out  the  way 
For  our  so  long'd-for  meeting  here  this  day, 
10  Lend  thy  attention  to  my  grand  concern. 

Vols.     I  gladly  would  that  story  of  thee  learn; 
But  thou  to  love  dost.  Pretty-man,  incline : 
Yet  love  in  thy  breast  is  not  love  in  mine. 

Bayes.     Antithesis!   thine  and   mine. 

Pret.     Since  love  itself's  the  same,  why  should  it  be 
Diff 'ring  in  you  from  what  it  is  in  me? 

Bayes.     Reasoning;  i'gad,  I  love  reasoning  in  verse. 

Vols.    Love  takes,  chameleon-like,  a  various  dye 
From  every  plant  on  which  itself  does  lie. 


ACT  IV,  SCENE  II  dl7 

2*^       Bayes.    Simile! 

Fret.     Let  not  thy  love  the  course  of  nature  fright: 
Nature  does  most  in  harmony  delight. 

Vols.     How  weak  a  deity  would  nature  prove, 
Contending  with  the  pow'rful  God  of  Love? 

Bayes.     There's  a  great  verse! 

Vols.     If  incense  thou  wilt  offer  at  the  shrine 
Of  mighty  Love,  burn  it  to  none  but  mine. 
Her  rosy  lips  eternal  sweets  exhale; 
And  her  bright  flames  make  all  flames  else  look  pale. 


30 


Bayes.     I'gad,  that  is  right. 


Fret.     Perhaps  dull  incense  may  thy  love  suflSce; 
But  mine  must  be  ador'd  with  sacrifice. 
All  hearts  turn  ashes  which  her  eyes  control: 
The  body  tiiey  consume  as  well  as  soul. 

Vols.    My  love  has  yet  a  power  more  divine; 
Victims  her  altars  burn  not,  but  refine: 
Amidst  the  flames  they  ne'er  give  up  the  ghost, 
But,  with  her  looks,  revive  still  as  they  roast. 
In  spite  of  pain  and  death,  they're  kept  alive: 
^^  Her  fiery  eyes  makes  'em  in  fire  survive. 

Bayes.    That  is  as  well  as  I  can  do. 

Vols.     Let  my  Parthenope  at  length  prevail. 

Bayes.    Civil,  i'gad. 

Fret.     I'll  sooner  have  a  passion  for  a  whale; 
In  whose  vast  bulk,  tho '  store  of  oil  dotli  lie. 
We  find  more  shape,  more  beauty  in  a  fly. 

Smi.     That's  uncivil,  i'gad. 

Bayes.     Yes;  but  as  far  a  f etch 'd  fancy,  tho',  i'gad,  as  ever  you  sa^w. 

Vols.     Soft,  Pretty-man,  let  not  thy  vain  pretense 
50  Of  perfect  love  defame  love's  excellence. 
Parthenope  is  sure  as  far  above 
All  other  loves,  as  above  ail  is  love. 

Bayes.     Ah!      I'gad,  that  strikes  me. 

Fret.     To  blame  my  Chloric,  gods  would  not  pretend. 

Bayes.     Now  uiurk. 

Vols.     Were  all  gods  join'd,  they  could  not  hope  to  mend 
My  better  choice;  for  fair  Parthenope, 
Gods  would,  themselves,  un-god  themselves  to  see. 


418  THE  KEHEAESAL 

Hayes.     Now  the  rant's  a  coming. 

60        Fret.    Durst  any  of  the  gods  be  so  uncivil, 
I'd  make  that  god  subscribe  himself  a  devil. 

Bayes.    Ah,  godsookers,  that's  well  writ! 

Vols.    Could'st  thou  that  god  from  heav'n  to  earth  translate, 
He  could  not  fear  to  want  a  heav'nly  state. 
Parthenope,  on  earth,  can  heav'n  create. 

Prct.     Chloris  does  heav'n  itself  so  far  excel, 
She  can  transcend  the  joys  of  heav'n  in  hell. 

Bayes.    There's  a  bold  flight  for  you  now!     'Sdeath,  I  have  lost  my 

peruke.      Well,   gentlemen,   this   is   that   I   never   yet   saw   anyone   could 

70  write,  but  myself.     Here 's  true  spirit  and  flame  all  thro ',  i  'gad.     So, 

so;  pray  clear  the  stage.  [He  puts  'em  off  the  stage. 

Johns.    But,  Mr.  Bayes,  pray  why  is  this  scene  all  in  verse? 

Bayes.     O,  sir,  the  subject  is  too  great  for  prose. 

Smi.  "Well  said,  i'  faith;  I'll  give  thee  a  pot  of  ale  for  that  answer: 
'tis  well  worth  it. 

Bayes.     Come,  with  all  my  heart. 

"I'll  make  that  god  subscribe  himself  a  devil." 
That  single  line,  i'  gad,  is  worth  all  that  my  brother  poets  ever  writ. 
So,  now  let  down  the  curtain.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  V 

Bayes,  and  the  two  Gentlemen. 

Bayes.  Now,  gentlemen,  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  I"ll  shew  you  the 
greatest  scene  that  ever  England  saw:  I  mean  not  for  words,  for  those 
I  do  not  value;  but  for  state,  shew,  and  magnificence.  ■  In  fine,  I'll 
justify  it  to  be  as  grand  to  the  eye  every  whit,  i'  gad,  as  that  great  scene 
in  Harry  the  Eight,  and  grander  too,  i'  gad ;  for,  instead  of  two  bishops, 
I  have  brought  in  two  other  cardinals. 

The  curtain  is  drawn  up,  and  the  tivo  usurping  Icings  appear  in 
state,  with  the  four  cardinals,  Prince  Pretty-man,  Prince 
VoLscius,  Amarillis,  Chloris,  Parthenope,  ^c;  before 
them,  heralds  and  sergeants  at  arms  with  maces. 

Smi.  Mr.  Bayes,  pray  what  is  the  reason  that  two  of  the  cardinals 
are  in  hats,  and  the  other  in  caps? 

Bayes.    Why,  sir,  because By  gad,  I  won't  tell  you. 

XO        Smi.     I  ask  your  pardon,  sir. 

K.  Vsh.     Now,  sir,  to  the  business  of  the  day. 

Vols.  Dread,  sovereign  lords,  my  zeal  to  you  must  not  invade  my 
duty  to  your  son;  let  me  intreat  that  great  Prince  Pretty-man  first  do 
speak:  whose  high  preeminence,  in  all  things  that  do  bear  the  name  of 
good,  may  justly  claim  that  privilege. 


ACT  V  419 

Pret.     Koyal  father,  upon  my  knees  I  beg 
That  the  illustrious  Volscius  first  be  heard. 

Bayes.     Here  it  begins  to  unfold:  you  may  perceive,  now,  that  he  is 
his  son. 
20        Johns.     Yes,  sir;   and  we  are  very  much  beholden   to  you   for  that 
discovery. 

Vols.     That  preference  is  only  due  to  Amarillis,  sir. 

Bayes.    I'll  make  her  speak  very  well,  by  and  by,  you  shall  see. 

Ama.     Invincible  sovereigns .  [Soft  rmisic. 

K.  TJsh.    But  stay,  what  sound  is  this  invades  our  ears? 
K.  Phys.     Sure,   'tis  the  music  of  the  moving  spheres. 
Pret.    Behold,  with  wonder,  yonder  comes  from  far 
A  godlike  cloud,  and  a  triumphant  car, 

In  which  our  two  right  kings  sit  one  by  one,  1 

30  With  virgin  vests,  and  laurel  garlands  on.  L 

K.  Vsh.     Then,  brother  Phys,   'tis  time  that  we  were  gone.    J 

{The  tivo  Usurpers  steal  out  of  the  throne,  and  go  away. 

Bayes.  Look  you  now,  did  not  I  tell  you  that  this  would  be  as  easy 
a  turn  as  the  other? 

Smi.  Yes,  faith,  you  did  so;  tho',  I  confess,  I  could  not  believe  you; 
but  you  have  brought  it  about,  I  see. 

[The  two  right  Kings  of  Brentford  descend  in  the  clouds,  singing, 
in  white  garments;  and  three  fiddlers  sitting  before  them,  in 
green. 

Bayes.  Now,  because  the  two  right  kings  descend  from  above,  I 
make   'em  sing  to  the  tune  and  style  of  our  modern  spirits. 

1  King.     Haste,  brother  king,  we  are  sent  from  above. 

2  King.    Let  us  move,  let  us  move: 
40  Move  to  remove  the  fate 

Of  Brentford's  long-united  state. 

1  King.    Tara,  tara,  tara,  full  east  and  by  south, 

2  King.     We  sail  with   thunder  in  our  mouth. 
In  scorching  noonday,  whilst  the  traveler  stays. 

Busy,  busy,  busy,  busy,  we  bustle  along; 
Mounted  upon  warm  Pho-bus  his  rays, 
Thro '  the  heavenly  throng, 
Haste  to  those 

Who  will  feast  us,  at  night,  with  a  pig's    pettitoes. 
50         1  King.  And  we'll  fall  with  our  pate 

In  an  olio  of  hate. 
2  King.     But  now  supper's  done,  the  ser\itors  try, 
Like  soldiers,  to  storm  a  whole  half-moon-pie. 

1  King.     They  gather,  they  gather  hot  custard  in  spoons; 
Alas,  I  must  leave  these  half-moons. 
And  repair  to  my  trusty  dragoons. 


420  THE  KEHEAKSAL 

2  King.     0  stay,  for  you  need  not  as  yet  go  astray; 
The  tide,  like  a  friend,  has  brought  ships  in  our  way. 
And  on  their  high  ropes  we  will  play. 
60         Like  maggots  in  filberds,  we  '11  snug  in  our  shell, 
We'll  frisk  in  our  shell. 

We'll  firk  in  our  shell. 
And  farewell. 

1  King.     But  the  ladies  have  all  inclination  to  dance, 
And  the  green  frogs  croak  out  a  coranto  of  France. 

Bayes.     Is  not  that  pretty,  now?     The  fiddlers  are  all  in  green. 
Smi.    A.je,  but  they  play  no  coranto. 

Johns.     No,  but  they  play  a  tunc,  that's  a  great  deal  better. 
Bayes.     No  coranto,  quoth  a!     That's  a  good  one,  with  all  my  heart, 
70  Come,  sing  on. 

2  King.  Now  mortals  that  hear 

How  we  tilt  and  career. 
With  wonder  will  fear 
The  event  of  such  things  as  shall  never  appear. 

1  King.     Stay  you  to  fulfill  what  the  gods  have  decreed. 

2  King.     Then  call  me  to  help  you,  if  there  shall  be  need. 
1  King.     So  firmly  resolv  'd  is  a  true  Brentford  king 

To  save  the  distress 'd,  and  help  to   'em  bring. 
That  ere  a  full  pot  of  good  ale  you  can  swallow, 
80  He's  here  with  a  whoop,  and  gone  with  a  holla. 

[Bayes  fillips  his  finger,  and  sings  after  'em. 

Bayes.  "He's  here  with  a  whoop,  and  gone  with  a  holla."  This,  sir, 
you  must  know,  I  thought  once  to  have  brought  in  with  a  conjurer. 

Johns.     Aye,  that  would  have  been  better. 

Bayes.  No,  faith,  not  when  you  consider  it :  for  thus  'tis  more 
compendious,  and  does  the  thing  every  whit  as  well. 

JS7ni.     Thing!     What  thing? 

Bayes.  Why,  bring  'em  down  again  into  the  throne,  sir:  what  thing 
would  you  have? 

Smi.     Well;  but,  methinks,  the  sense  of  this  song  is  not  very  plain. 

90        Bayes.     Plain?     Why,  did  you  ever  hear  any  people  in  clouds  speak 

plain?     They  must  be  all  for  flight  of  fancy,  at  its  full  range,  without 

the  least  check  or  control  upon  it.     When  once  you  tie  up  spirits  and 

people  in  clouds  to  speak  plain,  you  spoil  all. 

Smi.    Bless  me,  what  a  monster's  this! 

[The  two  "kings  light  out  of  the  clouds,  and  step  into  the  throne. 

1  King.     Come,  now  to  serious  counsel  we'll  advance. 

2  King.     I  do  agree;  but  first,  let's  have  a  dance.   - 

Bayes.    Eight.     You  did  that  very  well,  Mr.  Cartwright..    "But  first, 
let's  have  a  dance."     Pray  remember  that ;  be  sure  ybu  dp  it  always  just 
so:    for  it  must  be  done  as  if  it  were  the  effect  of  thought  and  pre- 
100  meditation.     "But  first,  lef  s  have  a  dance."     Pray  remember  that. 


ACT  V  421 

Smi.  Well,  I  can  hold  no  longer,  I  must  gag  this  rdgue;  there's  no 
induring  of  him. 

Johns.  No,  pr"ythce  make  use  of  thy  patience  a  little  longer:  let's 
see  the  end  of  him  now.  [Dance  a  grand  dance. 

Bayes.  This,  now,  is  an  ancient  dance,  of  right  belonging  to  the 
kings  of  Brentford ;  and  since  deriv  M,  with  a  little  alteration,  to  the 
Inns  of  Court. 

An  Alarm.     Enter  two  Heralds. 

1  King.     What  saucy  groom  molests  our  privacies? 

1  Her.     The  army's  at  the  door,  and  in  disguise; 
110  Desires  a  word  with  both  your  majesties: 

2  Her.     Having  from  Knightsbridge  hither  march  'd  by  stealth. 
2  King.     Bid   'em  attend  awhile,  and  drink  our  health. 

Smi.     How,  Mr.  Bayes,  the  army  in  disguise? 

Bayes.  Aye,  sir,  for  fear  the  usurpers  might  discover  them  that  went 
out  but  just  now. 

Smi.  Why,  what  if  they  had  discover'd  them? 
Bayes.  Why  then  they  had  broke  this  design. 
Smi.     That's  true,  indeed.     I  did  not  think  of  that. 

1  King.     Here,  take  five  guineas  for  those  warlike  men.  t 

128        2  King.     And  here's  five  more;   that  makes  the  sum  just  ten.  > 
1  Her.     We  have  not  seen  so  mucli   the  Lord  knows  when.       J 

[Exeunt  Heralds. 
1  King.     Speak   on,    brave   Amarillis. 
Ama.     Invincible  sovereigns,  blame  not  my  modesty, 

If  at  this  grand  conjuncture [Drum  beats  behind  the  stage. 

1  King.     What  dreadful  noise  is  this  that  comes  and  goes? 

Enter  a  soldier  tcith  his  sword  draivn. 

Sold.     Haste  hence,  great  sirs,  your  royal  persons  save, 
For  the  event  of  war  no  mortal  knows: 
The  army,  wrangling  for  the  gold  you  gave, 

First  fell  to  words,  and  then  to  handy-blows.  [Exit. 

130        2  King.     O   dangerous   estate   of   sovereign   pow'r! 
Obnoxious  to  the  change  of  every  hour. 
1  King.     Let  us  for  shelter  in  our  cabinet  stay: 

Perhaps  these  threat  'ning  storms  may  pass  away. 

[Exeutit. 

Johns.  But,  Mr.  Bayes,  did  not  you  promise  us,  just  now,  to  make 
Amarillis  speak  very  well? 

Bayes.    Aye,  and  so  she  would  have  done,  but  that  they  hindcr'd  her. 
Smi.     How,  sir?     Whether  you  would  or  no? 

Bayes.     Aye,  sir;   the  plot  lay  so  tliat,  I  vow  to  gad,  it  was  not  to 
be  avoided. 
140         Smi.     Marry,  that  was  hard. 

Johns.    But,  pray,  who  hinder'd  her? 


422  THE  EEHEAESAL 

Bayes.  Why,  the  battle,  sir,  that's  just  coming  in  at  door.  And 
I'll  tell  you  now  a  strange  thing:  tho'  I  don't  pretend  to  do  more 
than  other  men,  i'  gad.  111  give  you  both  a  whole  week  to  guess  how 
I'll  represent  this  battle. 

Svii.     I  had  rather  be  bound  to  fight  your  battle,  sir,  I  assure  you. 

Bayes.     Why,  there's  it  now:   fight  a  battle?     There's  the  common 

error.     I  knew  presently  where  I  should  have  you.     Why,  pray,  sir,  do 

but  tell  me  this  one  thing:   can  you  think  it  a  decent  thing,  in  a  battle 

150  before   ladies,   to   have   men   run   their    swords   thro '   one   another,   and 

all  that? 

Johns.     No,  faith,  'tis  not  civil. 

Bayes.  On  the  other  side;  to  have  a  long  relation  of  squadrons  here, 
and  squadrons  there:  what  is  that  but  a  dull  prolixity? 

Johns.     Excellently  reason'd,  by  my  troth! 

Bayes.    Wherefore,  sir,  to  avoid  both  those  indecorums,  I  sum  up  my 

whole  battle  in  the  representation  of  two  persons  only,  no  more :  and  yet 

so  lively,  that,  I  vow  to  gad,  you  would  swear  ten  thousand  men  were 

at  it,  really  engag'd.     Do  you  mark  me? 

160        Smi.     Yes,  sir;  but  I  think  I  should  hardly  swear,  tho',  for  all  that. 

Bayes.  By  my  troth,  sir,  but  you  would,  tho',  when  you  see  it:  for 
I  make  'em  both  come  out  in  armor,  cap-a-pie,  with  their  swords  drawn, 
and  hung  with  a  scarlet  ribbon  at  their  wrists,  (which,  you  know,  re- 
presents fighting  enough,)  each  of  'em  holding  a  lute  in  his  hand. 

Smi.     How,  sir,  instead  of  a  buckler? 

Bayes.  O  Lord,  0  Lord!  instead  of  a  buckler?  Pray,  sir,  do  you 
ask  no  more  questions.  I  make  'em  sir,  play  the  battle  in  recitativo. 
And  here's  the  conceit.  Just  at  the  very  same  instant  that  one  sings, 
170  the  other,  sir,  recovers  you  his  sword,  and  puts  himself  in  a  warlike 
posture :  so  that  you  have  at  once  your  ear  entertain  'd  with  music  and 
good  language,  and  your  eye  satisfied  with  the  garb  and  accouterments 
of  war.     is  not  that  well? 

Johns.  Aye,  what  would  you  have  more?  He  were  a  devil  that 
would  not  be  satisfied  with  that. 

)Smi.     I  confess,  sir,  you  stupify  me. 

Bayes.     You  shall  see. 

Johns.     But,  Mr.  Bayes,  might  not  we  have  a  little  fighting,  for  I 
love  those  plays  where  they  cut  and  slash  one  another,  upon  the  stage, 
180  for  a  whole  hour  together. 

Bayes.  Why,  then,  to  tell  you  true,  I  have  eontriv'd  it  both  ways. 
But  you  shall  have  my  recitativo  first. 

Enter,  at  several  doors,  the  General,  and  Lieutenant  General. 
arm  'd  cap-a-pie,  with  each  of  them  a  lute  in  his  hand,  and 
his  sword  drawn,  and  hung  with  a  scarlet  ribbon  at  his 
wrist. 

Lieut.  Gen.     Villain,  thou  liest. 
Gen.     Arm,  arm,  Gonsalvo,  arm;  what  ho? 
The  lie  no  flesh  can  brook,  I  trow. 


ACT  V  423 

Lieut.  Gen.     Advance,  from  Acton,  with  the  musketeers. 
Gen.     Draw  down  the  Chelsea  curiasiers. 
Lieut.  Gen.     The  band  you  boast  of,  Chelsea  curiasiers, 
Shall,  in  my  Putney  pikes,  now  meet  their  peers. 
190         Gen.     Chiswickians,  aged,  and  renown'd  in  fight, 
Join  with  the  Hammersmith  brigade. 
Lieut.  Gen.     You  'II  find  my  Mortlake  boys  will  do  them  right, 

Unless  by  Fulham  numbers  overlaid. 
Gen.     Let  the  left  wing  of  Twiek  'nam  foot  advance 

And  line  that  eastern  hedge. 
Lieut.  Gen.     The  horse  I  raia'd  in  Petty  France 
Shall  try  their  chance, 
And  scour  the  meadows,  overgrown  with  sedge. 
Gen.     Stand:  give  the  word. 
200        Lieut.  Gen.    Bright  sword. 
Gen.     That  may  be  thine, 

But  'tis  not  mine. 
Lieut.  Gen.    Give  fire,  give  fire,  at  once  give  fire, 

And  let  those  recreant  troops  perceive  mine  ire. 
Gen.     Pursue,  pursue;  they  fly 

That  first  did  give  the  lie.  [Exeunt. 

Bayes.     This,  now,  is  not  improper,  I  think,  because  the  spectators 
know  all  these  towns,  and  may  easily  conceive   them   to   be  within   the 
dominions  of  the  two  Kings  of  Brentford. 
210        Johns.     Most  exceeding  well  design'd ! 

Bayes.  How  do  you  think  I  have  contriv'd  to  give  a  stop  to  this 
battle? 

Smi.    How? 

Bayes.  By  an  eclipse:  which,  let  me  tell  you,  is  a  kind  of  fancy 
that  was  yet  never  so  much  as  thought  of,  but  by  myself,  and  one  person 
more,  that  shall  be  nameless.    Come,  come  in,  Mr. a 

Enter  Lieutenant  General. 

Lieut.  Gen.     What  midnight  darkness  does  invade  the  day, 
And  snatch  the  victor  from  his  conquer'd  prey? 
Is  the  sun  weary  of  this  bloody  fight, 
220  And  winks  upon  us  with  his  eye  of  light? 

'Tis  an  eclipse.     This  was  unkind,  O  moon. 

To  clap  between  me  and  the  sun  so  soon. 

Foolish  eclipse!  thou  this  in  vain  hast  done; 

My  brighter  honor  had  eclips'd  the  sun. 

But  now  behold  eclipses  two  in  one.  [Exit. 

Johns.  This  is  an  admirable  representation  of  a  battle,  as  ever  I 
saw. 

Bayes.     Aye,  sir.     But  how   would  you   fancy   now   to   represent  an 
eclipse? 
230        ^ini.    Why,  that's  to  be  suppos'd. 


424  'THE  1{EHEA6SAL 

Bayes.  Suppos'dl  Aye,  you  are  ever  at  your  suppose:  ha,  ha,  ha. 
Why  you  may  as  well  suppose  the  whole  play.  No,  it  must  come  in 
upon  the  stage,  that's  certain;  but  in  some  odd  way,  that  may  delight, 
amuse,  and  all  that.  I  have  a  conceit  for  't  that  I  am  sure  is  new,  and, 
I  believe,  to  the  purpose. 

Johns.     How's  that? 

Bayes.  "Why,  the  truth  is,  I  took  the  first  hint  of  this  out  of  a 
dialogue,  between  Phoebus  and  Aurora,  in  The  Slighted  Maid:  which, 
by  my  troth,  was  very  pretty ;  tho ',  I  think,  you  '11  confess  tliis  is  a  little 
240  better. 

Johns.     No  doubt  on't,  Mr.  Bayes. 

Bayes.  But,  sir,  you  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that  your  eclipse  of  the 
moon  is  nothing  else  but  an  interposition  of  the  earth  between  the  sun 
and  moon:  as  likewise  your  eclipse  of  the  sun  is  caus'd  by  an  interloca- 
tion  of  the  moon  betwixt  the  earth  and  sun? 

Smi.     I  have  heard  so,  indeed. 

Bayes.    Well,  sir;  what  do  me  I,  but  make  the  earth,  sun,  and  moon, 

come  out  upon  the  stage,  and  dance  the  hey  hum?    And,  of  necessity,  by 

the  very  nature  of  this  dance,  the  earth  must  be  sometimes  between  the 

250  sun  and  the  moon,  and  the  moon  between  the  earth  and  sun;  and  there 

you  have  both  your  eclipses.    That  is  new,  i'  gad,  ha? 

Johns.     That  must  needs  be  very  fine,  truly. 

Bayes.  Yes,  there  is  some  fancy  in't.  And  then,  sir,  that  there 
may  be  something  in  it  of  a  joke,  I  make  the  moon  sell  the  earth  a 
bargain.     Come,  come  out,  eclipse,  to  the  tune  of  Tom  Tyler. 

Enter  Luna. 

Luna.     Orbis,  O  Orbis, 

Come  to  me  thou  little  rogue  Orbis. 

Enter  the  Earth. 

Orh.     What  calls  Terra  Firma,  pray? 
L^ina.     Luna,  that  ne'er  shines  by  day. 
260        Orb.     What  means  Luna  in  a  veil? 
Luna.    Luna  means  to  shew  her  tail. 

Enter  Sol. 

Sol.     Fie,  sister,  fie;  thou  mak'st  mc  muse, 
Dery,  dery  down, 
To  see  thee  Orb  abuse. 
Luna.    I  hope  his  anger  "twill  not  move; 
Since  I  did  it  out  of  love. 

Hey  down,  dery  down. 
Orh.    Where  shall  I  thy  true  love  know, 
Thou  pretty,  pretty  Moon? 
270        Luna.     To-morrow  soon,  ere  it  be  noon, 

On  Mount  Vesuvio.  [Bis. 

Sol.     Then  I  will  shine. 


ACT  V  425 

Orh.     And  I  will  be  fine. 

Luna.     And   we  will  drink  nothing  but  Lipary  wine. 

Omnes.     And  we,  4'C- 

Bayes.  So,  now,  vanish  eclipse,  and  enter  t'other  battle,  and  fight. 
Here  now,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  will  see  fighting  enough. 

A  battle  is  foiujht  between  foot  and  great  hobbyhorses.  At 
last,  Drawcansir  comes  in,  and  kills  'em  all  on  both  sides. 
All  this  while  the  battle  is  fighting,  Bayes  is  telling  them 
when  to  shout,  and  sliouls  with  'em. 

Draw.     Others  may  boast  a   single  man  to  kill; 
But  I  the  blood  of  thousands  daily  spill. 
280  Let  petty  kings  the  names  of  parties  know: 

Where'er  I  come,  I  slay  both  friend  and  foe. 
The  swiftest  horsemen  my  swift  rage  controls, 
And  from  their  bodies  drives  their  trembling  souls. 
If  they  had  wings,  and  to  the  gods  could  fly, 
I  would  pursue,  and  beat   'em  thro'  the  sky; 
,  And  make  proud  Jove,  with  all  his  thunder,  see 

This  single  arm  more  dreadful  is  than  he.  [Exit. 

Bayes.  There's  a  brave  fellow  for  you  now,  sirs.  I  have  read  of  yonr 
Hector,  your  Achilles,  and  a  hundred  more;  but  I  defy  all  your  histories, 
290  and  your  romances  too,  i'  gad,  to  shew  me  one  such  conqueror  as  this 
Drawcansir. 

Johns.     I  swear,  I  think  you  may. 

Smi.  But,  Mr.  Bayes,  how  shall  all  these  dead  men  go  off,  for  I 
see  none  alive  to  help  'em? 

Bayes.  Go  off!  why,  as  they  came  on;  upon  their  legs:  how  should 
they  go  off?  Why,  do  you  think  the  people  do  not  know  they  are  not 
dead?  He  is  mighty  ignorant,  poor  man;  your  friend  here  is  very  silly, 
Mr.  Johnson,  i'  gad,  he  is.  Come,  sir,  I'll  show  you  go  off.  Else,  sirs, 
and  go  about  your  business.  There's  go  off  for  you.  Hark  you,  Mr. 
300  Ivory.     Gentlemen,  I'll  be  with  you  presently.  [Exit. 

Johns.     Will  you  so?    Then  we'll  be  gone. 

Smi.  Aye,  pr'ythee  let's  go,  that  we  may  preserve  our  hearing.  One 
battle  more  would  take  mine  quite  away.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Bayes  and  Flayers. 

Bayes.  Where  are  the  gentlemen? 

1  Play.  They  are  gone,  sir. 

Bayes.  Gone!     'Sdeath,  this  last  act  is  best  of  all.     I'll  go  fetch  'era 

again.  [Exit. 

3  Play.  Stay,  here's  a  foul  piece  of  paper  of  his.     Let's  see  what 

'tis.  [Beads. 

3JQ  "The  Argument  of  the  Fifth  Act. 

"Chloris,  at  length,  being  sensible  of  Prince  Pretty-man's  passion, 
consents  to  marry  him  ;  hut,  just  as  they  are  going  to  church.  Prince  Pretty- 


426  THE  KEHEARSAL 

man  meeting,  by  chance,  with  old  Joan  the  chandler's  widow,  and  remetn- 
b  'ring  it  was  she  that  first  brought  him  acquainted  with  Chloris,  out  of  a 
high  point  of  honor,  breaks  off  his  match  with  Chloris,  and  marries  old 
Joan.  Upon  which,  Chloris,  in  despair,  drowns  herself;  and  Prince 
Pretty-man,  discontentedly,  walks  by  the  river  side. ' ' 

1  Play.    Pox  on't,  this  will  never  do;  'tis  just  like  the  rest.     Como, 
let's  be  gone.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Bayes. 

S20  Bayes.  A  plague  on  'em  both  for  me,  they  have  made  me  sweat  to 
run  after  'era.  A  couple  of  senseless  rascals,  that  had  rather  go  to 
dinner  than  see  this  play  out,  with  a  pox  to   'em.     What  comfort  has  a 

man  to  write  for  such  dull  rogues?     Come  Mr. a "Where  are  you, 

sir?    Come  away  quick,  quick. 

Enter  Players  again. 

Play.     Sir,  they  are  gone  to  dinner. 

Bayes.     Yes,  I  know  the   gentlemen   are   gone;    but   I  ask   for  the 
players. 

Play.  Why,  an't  please  your  worship,  sir,  the  players  are  gone  to 
dinner  too. 
330  Bayes.  How!  Are  the  players  gone  to  dinner?  'Tis  impossible: 
the  players  gone  to  dinner!  I'  gad,  if  they  are,  I'll  make  'em  know 
what  it  is  to  injure  a  person  that  does  'em  the  honor  to  write  for  'em, 
and  all  that.  A  company  of  proud,  conceited,  humorous,  cross-grain'd 
persons,  and  all  that.  I '  gad,  I  '11  make  'em  the  most  contemptible, 
despicable,  inconsiderable  persons,  and  all  that,  in  the  whole  world,  for 
this  trick.  I'  gad,  I'll  be  reveng'd  on  'em;  I'll  sell  this  play  to  the 
other  house. 

Play.  Nay,  good  sir,  don't  take  away  the  book;  you'll  disappoint 
the  town,  that  comes  to  see  it  acted  here,  this  afternoon. 
340  Bayes.  That's  all  one.  I  must  reserve  this  comfort  to  myself,  my 
book  and  I  will  go  together,  we  will  not  part,  indeed,  sir.  The  town! 
Why,  what  care  I  for  the  town?  I'  gad,  the  town  has  us'd  me  as 
scurvily  as  the  players  have  done;  but  I'll  be  reveng'd  on  them  too:  T 
will  both  lampoon  and  print  'em  too,  i  'gad.  Since  they  will  not  admit 
of  my  plays,  they  shall  know  what  a  satirist  I  am.  And  so  farewell  to 
this  stage  for  ever,  i'gad.  [Exit. 

1  Play.     What  shall  we  do  now? 

2  Play.     Come  then,  let's  set  up  bills  for  another  play.     We  shall 
lose  nothing  by  this,  I  warrant  you. 

350  1  Play.  I  am  of  your  opinion.  But,  before  we  go,  let's  see  Haynes 
and  Shirley  practice  the  last  dance;  for  that  may  serve  for  another 
play. 

2  Play.     I'll  call  'em:     I  think  they  are  in  the  tiring-room. 

The  dance  done. 

1  Play.    Come,  come;  let's  go  away  to  dinner.  [Exeunt  omnes. 


10 


21 


EPILOGUE. 

The  play  is  at  an  end,  but  where's  the  plot? 
That  circumstance  our  poet  Bayes  forgot; 
And  we  can  boast,  the'   'tis  a  plotting  age, 
No  place  is  freer  from  it  than  the  stage. 
The  ancients  plotted,  tho',  and  strove  to  please 
With  sense  that  might  be  understood  with  ease; 
They  every  scene  with  so  much  wit  did  store 
That  who  brought  any  in,  went  out  with  more: 
But  this  new  way  of  wit  does  so  surprise, 
Men  lose  their  wits  in  wond'ring  where  it  lies. 
If  it  be  true  that  monstrous  births  presage 
The  following  mischiefs  that  afflicts  the  age. 
And  sad  disasters  to  the  State  proclaim; 
Plays,  without  head  or  tail,  may  do  the  same. 
Wherefore,  for  ours,  and  for  the  kingdom's  peace, 
May  this  prodigious  way  of  writing  cease. 
Let's  have,  at  least,  once  in  our  lives,  a  time 
When  we  may  hear  some  reason,  not  all  rime: 
We  have  these  tea  years  felt  its  influence; 
Pray  let  this  prove  a  year  jf  prose  and  sense. 


NOTES 


Many  of  the  following  notes  arc  taken  from  Sir  Walter  Scott,  whoso 
edition  of  Dryden,  first  published  in  1808,  has  become  an  English  classic. 
The  text  printed  in  Professor  Saintsbury's  revision  of  Scott's  edition  (London 
and  Edinbargh,  1882-93)  has  been  used  as  a  basis,  but  it  has  often  been  cor- 
rected or  abbreviated.  When  a  note  is  taken  from  Scott  with  no  change 
whatever,  It  Is  enclosed  In  quotation  marks  and  his  name  is  added.  When 
Scott's  note  has  been  modified  by  the  omission,  alteration,  or  addition  of 
even  a  single  word,  quotation  marks  are  retained,  but  the  name  is  enclosed 
in  brackets  [Scott].  The  same  notation  is  used  for  the  comments  taken 
from  other  critics,  notably  Professor  Saintsbury  (in  the  same  edition)  and 
Professor  Ker  (in  Essays  of  John  Dryden,  Oxford,  1900).  Occasional  refer- 
ence is  made  to  Malone's  edition  of  The  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works  of  John  Dryden,  London,  1800  ;  and  to  the  Globe  edition  of  Dryden, 
edited   by   Christie. 

The  system  of  reference  is  as  follows :  the  numbers  ordinarily  go  in 
pairs,  in  which  the  first  (in  heavier  type)  stands  for  the  page,  the  second 
for  the  line  on  that  page.  Thus  74,  59  =  page  74,  line  59;  v.  n.  74,  59  =  see 
note  on   74,  59  ;   v.   74,   59,   n.  =  see  74,  59,  and  note. 

The  following  abbreviations,  as  well   as  those   in  universal    use,   are  em- 
ployed in  the  following  notes  and  in  the  footnotes  to  the  text 
Cgd.—Covent  Garden  Drollery,   1672. 
.P.  =  Folio  edition  of  Dryden's  Comedies,  Tragedies,  and  Operas, 

1701. 
K.  =  (except  in  notes  on  The  Rehearsal)   Professor  Ker's  edition 

of  Essays  of  John  Dryden. 
M.  =  Mermaid   edition   of  dramas  by  Dryden,   edited   by   Professor 
Saintsbury,    London    and    New    York,    1904. 
Jfc8.=  New  Court  f!onf/s  and  Poems,  by  R.  V.  Gent,  1672. 
N.   E.   D.  =  A'ch;  English  Dictionary. 

Q.=  Early  quarto  edition  of  play  printed  in  this  volume;  see  pp. 

2,  148,  222,  ;J0(),  472,  xxxli. 
88.  =  Scott-Saintsbury  edition  of  Dryden. 
Wd.  =  Westminster  Drollery,  the  Second  Part,  1672. 

On  [A.],  [K.],  and  [N.],  in  notes  on  The  Rehearsal,  see  p.  472. 


429 


THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 

For  general  information  on  The  Conquest  of  Granada,  see  Introduction, 
pp.  xxiv-xxvli.  Tlie  title-pages  of  this  and  of  the  other  plays  in  this  volnme 
are  not  literally  reproduced  from  those  in  the  early  editions,  but  are  adapted 
from  them.  Dryden's  Vlrgilian  motto  refers  to  his  undertaking  a  work  "as 
far  above  the  ordinary  proportion  of  the  stage,  as  that  is  beyond  the  common 
words  and  actions  of  human  life."  (v.  8,  9,  45-2.)  His  own  translation 
of  It  is:— 

A  larger  scene  of  action  is  display'd ; 

And,  rising  hence,  a  greater  work  is  weigh'd. 

DEDICATION 

8,  The  Duke.    "James,  Duke  of  York,  afterwards  James  II."     Scott. 

22.  Personal  valor.  "Although  the  valor  of  the  unfortunate  James  II 
seems  to  have  sunk  with  his  good  fortune,  there  is  no  reason 
to  question  his  having  merited  the  compliment  in  the  text. 
The  Duke  of  Buckingham,  in  his  memoirs,  has  borne  witness 
to  the  intrepidity  with  which  he  encountered  the  dangers  of 
his  desperate  naval  actions  with  the  Dutch."  [Scott.] 
Acknowledging.     Conscious  of  Indebtedness. 

C  4.  Your  valor.  "When  General  Lockhart  commanded  the  troops  of 
the  Protector  in  Flanders,  the  Duke  of  York  was  a  volunteer 
in  the  Spanish  army,  and  was  present  at  the  defeat  which  the 
latter  received  before  Dunkirk,  June  14,  1658."      [Scott.] 

30.  Success.     Outcome. 

45.     And  if,  since  that  memorable  day.    The  day  was  that  of  the  defeat 

of  the  Dutch  off  Lowestoft,  June  3,   1665. 
5,      10.     A  surprise.     The  reference  is  to  the  events  of  1667,  when  a  Dutch 

fleet  entered  the  Thames,  sailed  up  the  Medway,   and  burned 

three  English  men-of-war. 
11.     Furcw  Caudinw.     The   reference   is  to   the  famous  defeat  of  the 

Romans  by  the   Samnites   In  B.   C.   321. 
19.     A    just    historian.      Dryden    had    only    recently     (August,    1670) 

received  the  posts  of  Poet  Laureate  and  Historiographer  Royal. 

ESSAY  OF  HEROIC   PLAYS 

7,  32.     For  heroic  plays,  etc.     Dryden's  account  of  the  topic  is  not  com- 

plete ;  for  further  details  see  Introduction,  pp.  xiv-xix,  and  the 
references  there  given. 

8,  11.     Just.     "I.  e.  regular."     Ker. 

31.  Le  donne,  etc. 

Of  loves  and  ladies,  knights  and  arms,  I  sing. 
Of  courtesies,  and  many  a  daring  feat.      {Rose's  Translation.) 
35.     Love  and  valor  ought  to  be  the  subject  of  it. 

"The  practice  and  theory  of  Tasso  show  how  the  classical 
form  of  Epic  had  been  generally  modified  by  the  influence  of 

430 


NOTES  431 

the  romances.  Homer  and  Amadis  are  both  authorities  for 
the  right  conduct  of  Epic.  Tlie  Accadcmia  della  Crusca  went 
further  and  said  there  was  no  difference  between  Romance  and 
Epic,  except  that  the  latter  was  tedious  (Difeaa  dell'  Orlando 
FurtOHO,  1584)."  Ker. 
35,86.  Both  these  Sir  ^yiUianl  Davenunt  had  beoun  to  shadow,  etc.  Com- 
pare the  following  passage  in  Davenant's  Preface  to  Oondibert: 

"In  the  choice  of  these  objects  (which  are  as  seamarlis  to 
direct  the  dangerous  voyage  of  life)  I  thought  fit  to  follow 
the  rule  of  coasting  maps,  where  the  shelves  and  rocks  are 
describ'd  as  well  as  the  safe  channel  ;  the  care  being  equal 
how  to  avoid  as  to  proceed."      (Davenant,  Works,  1673,  p.  6.) 

This  whole  Essay  of  Heroic  Plays,   as  we  shall  see,  owes 
much  to  this  Preface  to  Gondibcrt  and  to  Ilobbes's  Anaicer  to 
it   (printed  in  the  same  volume). 
40.     As  the  ancients  call'd  it,  one  entire  and  great  action.     The  phrase 
goes  back   to  Aristotle's  Poetics,  chapter   vl,   but   in   Dryden's 
time  had  become  a  mere  commonplace  of  criticism. 
9,        8.     That  it  ourjht,  etc.     The  passage  in  Italics  is  a  summary  of  Dav- 
enant's Ideas  in  his  Preface  to  Oondibert,  not  a  direct  quotation 
from  him. 
12, 13.     Thus  lie  takes  the  image  of  an  heroic  poem  from  the  drama. 

"I  cannot  discern  by  any  help  from  reading,  or  learned 
men  (who  have  been  to  me  the  best  and  briefest  indexes  of 
books),  that  any  nation  hath  in  representment  of  great  actions 
(either  by  heroics  or  dramatics)  digested  story  into  so  pleasant 
and  instructive  a  method  as  the  English  by  their  drama  :  and 
by  that  regular  species  (though  narratively  and  not  in  dia- 
logue) I  have  drawn  the  body  of  an  heroic  poem  ;  In  which  I 
did  not  only  observe  the  symmetry,  proportioning  five  books  to 
five  acts,  and  cantos  to  scenes  (the  scenes  having  their  number 
ever  governed  by  occasion),  but  all  the  shadoicings,  happy 
strokes,  secret  graces,  and  even  the  drapery,  which  together 
make  the  second  beauties,  I  have  (I  hope)  exactly  followed." 
(Davenant,  op.  cit.,  p.  7.) 
25.  A'oH  enim,  etc.  From  Petronius,  Satyricon,  118.  After  minis- 
teria  Dryden  has  omitted  ct  fabulosum  sententiarum  tormentum. 
"h'ov  actual  events  should  not  be  recounted  In  verse, — some- 
thing that  historians  do  far  better;  but,  through  digressions, 
and  the  interpositions  of  the  gods,  the  free  spirit  should  be 
urged  on,  so  that  the  prophesying  of  an  inspirod  mind  may 
appear  in  the  poem,  rather  than  the  accuracy  of  a  scrupulous 
discourse,   controlled  by  witnesses." 

"This  is  quoted  by  almost  every  critic  of  the  Epic  Poem: 
by  Sir  R.  I'anshawe,  in  his  translation  of  Camoens,  by  St. 
Evremond,  Rapin,  Bossu,  &c.,  also  by  Coleridge,  Biographia 
Literaria,  c.  14."  Keb. 
30.  Ltican.  "Lucan,  who  chose  to  write  the  greatest  actions  that 
ever  were  allowed  to  be  true  (which,  for  fear  of  contemporary 
witnesses,  obliged  him  to  a  very  close  attendance  upon  fame), 
did  not  observe  that  such  an  enterprise  rather  beseemed  an 
historian  then  a  poet.    .    .    . 

"I  have  been  thus  hard  to  call  him  to  account  for  the 
choice  of  his  argument,  not  merely  as  it  was  story,  but  because 
the  actions  he  recorded  were  so  eminent,  and  so  near  his  time, 


432  NOTES 

that  lie  could  not  assist  Truth  with  such  ornaments  as  poets, 
for  useful  pleasure,  have  allowed  her,  lest  the  feigned  com- 
plexion might  render  the  true  suspected."  (Davenant,  op. 
at.,  p.  2.) 

Lucan's  poem,   llie   Phar.ialia.  treats  of  the  civil  wars  be- 
tween Csesar  and  I'onipey. 

32.     Sting  of  an  epigram.     Dryden  has  already  contemptuously  referred 
to   "the  jerk   or  sting   of   an   epigram"    In   his  Account   of   the 
Ensuing  Poem  prefixed  to  Annus  Mirabili.'i  (1007).     In  his  con- 
'  demnation    of    them    he    was    undoubtedly    influenced    by    Dav- 

enant, who  classes  "conceits,  things  that  sound  like  the  knacks 
or  toys  of  ordinary  epigrammatists,"  among  the  peculiarities 
of  a  style  falsely  accounted  wit  by  young  men.  (Davenant, 
op.  cit.,  p.  9.)     Cf.  144,  22,  n. 

40.     The  oracle  of  Appius,  etc.     v.  Lucan.  Phar-'^alin,  v.  e4f ;  vi.  507f. 

42.     For    my    part,    etc.      Here    Dryden    replies    to    an    argument    of 
Davenant,  of  which  only  two  sentences  need  be  quoted  : 

"But  Tasso,  though  he  came  late  into  the  world,  must  have 
his  share  in  that  critical  war  which  never  ceases  among  the 
learned,  and  he  seems  most  unfortunate,  because  his  errors, 
which  are  derived  fiom  the  ancients,  when  examined,  grow 
in  a  great  degree  excusable  in  them,  and  by  being  his  admit 
no  pardon.  Such  are  his  council  assembled  in  heaven,  his 
witches'  expeditions  through  the  air,  and  enchanted  woods 
inhabited  with  ghosts."     (Davenant,  op.  cit..  p.  ,3.) 

Dryden's  object  is,  of  course,  to  justify  his  adoption  of  the 
supernatural  machinery  rejected  by  Davenant. 
lO,       6.     And  if  any  man,  etc.     This  is  a  direct  reply  to  Hobbes  : 

"There  are  some  that  are  not  pleased  with  fiction,  unless  it 
be  bold  not  only  to  exceed  the  work,  but  also  the  possibility  of 
nature  :  they  would  have  impenetrable  armors,  inchanted 
castles,  invulnerable  bodies,  iron  men,  flying  horses,  and  a 
thousand  other  such  things,  which  ai"e  easily  figured  by  them 
that  dare.  Against  such  I  defend  you  [Davenant]  (without 
assenting  to  those  that  condemn  either  Homer  or  Virgil)  by 
dissenting  only  from  those  that  think  the  beauty  of  a  poem 
consisteth  in  the  exorbitancy  of  the  fiction.  For  as  truth  is 
the  bound  of  historical,  so  the  resemblance  of  truth  is  the 
utmost  limit  of  poetical  liberty.  In  old  time  amongst  the 
heathen  such  strange  fictions  and  metamorphoses  were  not  so 
remote  from  the  articles  of  their  faith  as  they  are  now  from 
'"ours,  and  therefore  were  not  so  unpleasant.  Beyond  the  actual 
works  of  nature  a  poet  may  now  go,  but  beyond  the  conceived 
possibility  of  nature  never."      (Op.  cit.,  p.  25.) 

17.  Incorporeal  suhstances.  "All  other  names  are  but  insignificant 
sounds ;  and  those  of  two  sorts.  One,  when  they  are  new, 
and  yet  their  meaning  not  explained  by  definition.  .  .  .  An- 
other, when  men  make  a  name  of  two  names  whose  signifi- 
cations are  contradictory  and  inconsistent ;  as  this  name,  an 
incorporeal  body,  or  (which  is  all  one)  an  incorporeal  sub- 
stance, and  a  great  number  more."  (Hobbes,  Leviathan,  part  I, 
chap.  4.) 
31.  Mr.  Cowley's  verses  before  Gondibert.  These  begin  as  follows  in 
the  Davenant  folio  of  1073  : 

Methinks  heroic  poesy  till  now 


NOTES  433 

Like  some  fantastic  fairyland  did  show  ; 
Gods,  devils,  nymphs,  witches,  and  giants'  race, 
And  all  but  man,  in  man's  chief  work  had  place. 
Thou,  like  some  worthy  knight,  with  sacred  arms 
Dost  drive  the  monsters  thence,  and  end  the  charms ; 
Instead  of  these,  dost  men  and  manners  plant. 
The  things  which  that  rich  soil  did  chiefly  want : 
Yet  cv'n  thy  mortals  do  their  gods  excel. 
Taught  by  thy  Muse  to  fight  and  love  so  well. 
Drydon's     admiration     for     Cowley     declined     much     with 
advancing    years,    as    the    following    passage    will    sufliciently 
illustrate  : 

"I  look'd  over  the  darling  of  my  youth,  the  famous  Cowley: 
there  I  found  .  .  .  the  points  of  wit,  and  quirks  of  epigram, 
even  in  the  Daiidcis,  a  heroic  poem,  which  is  of  an  opposite 
nature  to  those  puerilities;  but  no  elegant  turns  either  on  the 
word  or  on  the  thought."  (Discourse  concerning  Satire,  Ss. 
xiii,  116,  117.) 
39.  And  if  that  be  the  most  noble,  etc.  This  passage  is  such  a  com- 
monplace, despite  its  contradiction  of  Aristotle,  who  (Poetics, 
xxvi)  gives  the  preference  to  tragedy,  that  citation  of  authori- 
ties is  almost  superfluous.  But  perhaps  the  following  from 
Davenant.  whom  Dryden  is  here  alternately  following  and 
combating,  may  be  worth  quotation  : 

"Having  confessed  that  the  desire  of  fame  made  me  a 
writer,  I  must  declare  why  in  my  riper  age  I  chose  to  gain 
it  more  especially  by  an  heroical  poem,  and  the  heroic  being 
by  most  allowed  to  be  the  most  beautiful  of  poems,  I  shall  not 
need  to  decide  the  quarrels  of  poets  about  the  degrees  of 
excellence  in  poesj'.  .  .  . 

"In  my  despair  of  reducing  the  minds  of  common  men,  I 
have  not  confessed  any  weakness  of  poesy  in  the  general 
science,  but  rather  inferred  the  particular  strength  of  the 
heroic,  which  hath  a  force  that  over-matches  the  infancy  of 
such  minds  as  are  not  enabled  by  degrees  of  education;  but 
there  are  lesser  forces  in  other  kinds  of  poesy,  by  which  they 
may  train  and  prepare  their  understandings."  (Op.  cit., 
pp.  12,  18.) 
44.  Segnius,  etc.  Horace,  Ars  Poet.  180,  181.  "Less  keenly  are  our 
spirits  stirred  by  what  drops  into  the  ears,  than  by  what  is 
placed  before  the  trustworthy  eyes"  (Lonsdale  and  Lee's  trans- 
lation). 
11,  1.  To  those  icho  object,  etc.  Here  Dryden  contradicts  an  opinion 
advanced  in  his  Essag  of  Dramatic  Poesy  (1668),  where 
Xeander,  representing  Dryden  himself,  says:  "I  must  acknowl- 
edge .  .  .  that  the  French  have  reason  to  hide  that  part  of 
the  action  which  would  occasion  too  much  tumult  on  the  stage, 
and  to  choose  rather  to  have  it  made  known  by  narration  to 
the  audience."  (Ss.  xv.  S?,(i.) 
10.  The  poet  is,  then,  etc.  Compare,  in  An  Essay  of  Dramatic 
Poesy:  "Indeed,  the  indecency  of  tumults  is  all  which  can  be 
objected  against  fighting :  for  why  may  not  our  imagination 
as  well  suffer  itself  to  be  deluded  with  the  probability  of  It, 
as  with  any  other  thing  in  the  play?"  (Ss.  xv.  :{;{6.) 
12.     The  Red  Bull.     This  was  a  theater  of  an  inferior  sort  both  before 


434  NOTES 

the  closing  of  the  theaters  and  after  the  Restoration.  Two 
passages  from  Pcpys'  Diary  may  illustrate  its  later  reputation  : 
March  23,  1661.  "To  the  Red  Bull  (where  I  had  not 
been  since  plays  come  up  again),  up  to  the  tireing-room, 
where  strange  the  confusion  and  disorder  that  there  is  among 
them  in  fitting  themselves,  especially  here,  where  the  clothes 
are  very  poore,  and  the  actors  but  common  fellows." 

October  30,  1662.  "I  would  not  forget  .  .  .  Thos.  Killi- 
grew's  way  of  getting  to  see  plays  when  he  was  a  boy.  He 
would  go  to  the  Red  Bull,  and  when  the  man  cried  to  the 
boys :  'Who  will  go  and  l)e  a  devil  and  he  shall  see  the  play 
for  nothing?  then  would  he  go  in,  and  be  a  devil  upon  the 
stage,  and  so  get  to  see  plays." 

On  April  25,  1664,  Pepys  saw  a  prize  fight  at  the  Red  Bull. 
29.     CalprenSdc.     v.  Introduction,  p.   xv.      Professor   Ker  a'tly  quotes 
Boileau  : 

Tout  a  I'humeur  gasconne  en  un  auteur  gascon  ; 
Calpren&de  et  Juba  parlent  du  m&me  ton. 

(L'Art  Po6tiqtie,  iii  129,  130.)] 

39.  Oivo/?a/3€s     etc.  lUad,  1  225.     ''Thou  heavy  with  wine,  that  hast 

the  eyes  of  a  dog,  but  the  heart  of  a  stag !" 

40.  Arjfjioftopo^    etc.  Ihid.  231.  "Prince  that  dost  devour  thy  people  !" 
43.     "EAkcto       etc.  IMd.  191.     "lie  drew  from  the  sheath  the  mighty 

sword." 
12,       3.     'AAA',       etc.  IMd.    287,   288.     "But  this  man  wishes  to  excel  all 
others  ;  he  wishes  to  rule  all,  and  to  be  prince  over  all." 
6.     Honoratum,  etc.    Ars  Poet.    120-122.    "If  you  once  more  introduce 
on  the  stage   illustrious  Achilles,   he  must  appear  as  one  rest- 
less,   passionate,    inexorable,    keen    of    soul ;    he    must    say    law 
was   not    made    for    the    like    of    him,    appealing    to    the   sword 
alone"   (Lonsdale  and  Lee's  translation). 
14.     Tenya,  etc.    Gerusalemme  Liherata,  \.  43. 

Here  let  him  come  in  all  his  pomp  of  state ; 
I  place  my  proud  foot  on  the  ground,  and  wait 
His  unfearod  presence  and  his  scorned  decree  ; 
Sharp  arms  shall  be  our  only  jurors.  Fate 
Sole  arbitress,  and  foemen  flock  to  see 
The  sportful  drama  played, — a  deep,  deep  tragedy. 

Wiffen's   translation. 
18.     The   point   of   honor.      "Most    of   the    Spanish    plays   turn    on    the 
Point  of  Honor,  and  the  French  and  English  imitated   them. 
Compare   The  Adventures  of  Five  Hours,  act  v  : 

Don   Henrique.     Why,   were  not  you,   Antonio,  fighting 
with  him? 
Were  you  not  doing  all  you  could  to  kill  him? 

Don  Antonio.      Henrique,   'tis  true ;   but,   finding   in   my 
breast 
An  equal  strife  'twixt  honor  and  revenge, 
I  do,  in  just  compliance  with  them  both. 
Preserve  him  from  your  sword,  to  fall  by  mine. 

Don    Carlos.      Brave    man,    how    nicely    he    does    honor 
weigh ! 
Justice  herself  holds  not  the  scales  more  even."     [Ker.] 
See  Dodsley's  Old  English  Plays,  ed.   Hazlitt,  xv.  309,  and 
compare  The  Rehearsal,  pp.  409,  410,  199-225. 


NOTES  435 

25.  Cyrus  and  Oroondates.  See  Introduction,  pp.  xiv,  xv.  Oroon- 
dates  is  the  hero  of  Calprenfede's  Cassandre. 

37.  Ben  Jonson's  Cetheyus,  etc.  Dryden  is  here  writing  from 
memory.  In  Jonson's  Catiline  it  is  Catiline  himself  who 
threatens  to  look  Cicero  dead  (act  IV,  sc.  ii)  ;  Cethegus  offers 
to  liiil  all  the  senate  (act  IV,  sc.  lii)  ;  the  threat  of  destroying 
nature  is  divided  between  Catiline,  Cethegus,  and  Curius  (act 
III,  sc.  iii).  Drj-den's  defense  is  a  lame  one;  the  rant  of 
Catiline  and  Cethegus,  unliice  that  of  Almanzor,  is  meant  to 
arouse  contempt,  not  admiration. 

13,  15.     With  a  xcord.     "  'Una  voce,  qua  Quirites  eos  pro  milltibus  appel- 

larat.'     Suetonius,  Julius,  70."     Kek. 

22.  Duke  of  Guise.  "Cf.  Mciiioiies  de  feu  Monsieur  Ic  Due  de  Guise, 
Paris,  IGGS  (edited  l)y  the  Sicur  do  Sainctyon,  his  secretary; 
the  time  of  the  history  is  from  Nov.  1647  to  Ap.  1(J48). 
The  Eloge  describes  his  courage :  'Toute  la  Noblesse  du 
Royaume  de  Naples  i'a  vu  avec  etonnement  luy  resister  presque 
seul,  et  percer  I'epee  ft  la  main  tout  ce  qui  s'opposoit  aux 
efforts  de  son  courage.  ...  II  brava  les  vents  et  la  mer,  et 
luy  quatrieme  dans  une  felouque  m<:>prisa  toute  une  Flotte 
ennemie  pour  aller  sccourir  ses  amis.'  These  Memoirs  were 
translated  into  English   (1669)."     Keb. 

31.  Ast  opere,  etc.  Incorrectly  from  Horace,  Ars  Poet.  360:  Verum 
operi  longo  fas  est  obrepere  somnum.  "However,  it  is  allow- 
able, if  in  a  long  work  sleep  steals  over  a  writer"  (Lonsdale 
and  Lee's  translation). 

TEXT. 

14.  Mrs.    Ellen    Gwyn.      This    actress,    famous    as    the    mistress    of 

Charles  II,  created  the  part  of  the  virtuous  Almablde. 
1.  T'other  house's.  The  Conquest  of  Granada  was  acted  by  the 
King's  Company,  at  the  Theater  Royal,  in  Drury  Lane.  The 
Duke's  Company,  the  rival  organization,  played  at  the  Dorset 
Garden  Theater.  In  the  latter  company  Nokes  was  a  leading 
actor.  Christie  states,  without  citing  his  authority :  "The 
borrowing  of  the  jest  of  broad-brimmed  hat  and  waist-belt 
from  Nokes  and  the  other  house  ...  is  said  to  refer  to  a 
caricature  of  French  dress  by  Nokes  at  the  Duke  of  York's 
Theater,  during  the  visit  of  the  Duchess  of  Orleans  and  her 
suite  to  England,  in  May,  1670." 
19.     Two  the  best  comedians  of  the  age.     For  this  and  the  following 

references  the  editor  has  found  no  explanation. 
33.     To  like.     As  to  like.     [Sai.ntsbi'Ry.] 
17,1,  2.     Thus  in,  etc.     Leigh  in  The  Censure  of  the  Rota  remarks,  quite 
unjustly,  that  these  two  opening  lines  "agree  as  ill,  as   if  one 
were  a  Moor,  and  the  other  a  Spaniard." 
10.     The  flying  skirmish  of  the  darted  cane.     "The  'juego  de  caiJas'  or 
djereed."     S-iintsbury. 
Byrcn  speaks  of 

Many  au  active  deed 
With  saber  keen,  or  blunt  jerreed. 
(Bride  of  Ahydos,  stanza  vlii,  11.  237,  238.) 
and  informs  us   in  a  note  :    "The  jerreed   is  a   game   of  blunt 
javelins,   animated   and  graceful." 
IM,      29.     Oinnets.     Jennet,   small    Spanish  horse. 


19. 

74. 

95. 

100. 

ai. 

1(17. 

iSit, 

234. 

436  NOTES 

.10.     Launch'd.     Pierced. 

Gl.     Mirador.      "A    parapeted    balcony,    or    rather    look-out,    usual    ii 

Ili.'ipano-Mauresque  houses."     Saintsbury. 
70.     Escapade.     In  its  original  meaning  of  fling  or  ganihol  of  a  horse. 
The   word   comes   from   the   Spanish,    through   the   French,   and 
Dryden  may  well  have  found  it  in  his  French  source. 
73.     ^yhat  after  pass'd.     Hemistichs,   or  broken  lines,   are  common  in 
Dryden's   heroic    plays,    and    are    found    also   in   Absalom   and 
Achitophel.     As  I'rofessor  Collins  remarks  in  a  note  on  line  87 
of  that  poem   (in  his  edition  of  The  Satires  of  Dryden,  London, 
1905),    they   are   probably   introduced    in    imitation    of   Virgil's 
practice.     Dryden  abandoned   them  as  his  taste  became   more 
mature :     thus   he   used   them   In   some   selections   from   Virgil 
translated  for  Sylvw,  a  volume  of  miscellany  poems   published 
in    1685,    but   laid    them   aside    in    his   complete    translation    of 
Virgil    published    in    1697.      In    the    Dedication    of    the   JEneis 
published  with  the  latter  work,   he  writes :    "I   have   shunn'd 
hemistichs,  not  being  willing  to  imitate  Virgil  to  a  fault,  like 
Alexander's  courtiers,   who  affected  to  hold   their  necks  awry, 
because  he  could  not  help  it."     (Ss.  xiv.  223.) 
Ventanna.     Spanish  ventaiia,  a  window. 
Prevent.     Anticipate,  get  before. 
Atabals.     Kettledrums. 
Ought.     Owed;  an  archaism. 

Heav'n   sake.     The  final   -s  of  the  genitive  is  sometimes   omitted 
before  a  word  beginning  with  s,  especially  before   sake.     See 
Jespersen,    Groirth    and    Structure    of    tlic    English    Language, 
§  186.     Cf.  249,  410. 
23,    246.     Xcriff.     "The  still   reigning  royal   family   of  Morocco."      Saints- 
bury. 
275.     Precarious.     Suppliant,  supplicating. 

25,  361.     Zambra.      Velasquez'    Spanish    Dictionary    defines    this    as :     "A 

Moorish  festival  or  feast,  attended  with  dancing  and  music." 
Here  it  is  evidently  used  for  a  dance  alone. 

26,  26,  27.  I'ate  . .  .  above.  Settle   remarks  :     "Which   last   two   lines   if  he 

can  show  me  any  sense  or  thought  in,  or  anything  but  bom- 
bast and  noise,  he  shall  make  me  believe  every  word  in  his 
observations  on  Morocco  sense."  (Reflections,  etc.,  16S7,  p.  53.) 
Settle's  censure  is  liere  quite  as  unjust  as  it  is  ill-natured. 
29.  And  lost  the  tale,  and  took  'em  by  the  great.  Lost  count  and 
took  them  wholesale. 

27,  78.     Our  triumphs.     "Triumphs  over  us."     Saintsburt. 

31,    241.     While   we  to  purpose  can  be  foes.      So   QqF   SsM,    but   the   sense 
would  suggest  an  emendation  to,  till  ice  to  purpose  can  be  foes. 

35,  170.     Upon  liking.     Compare : 

The  royal  soul     .     . 

Came  but  a  while  on  liking  here. 

Threnodia  Augustalis,  150,  153. 
On  this  Scott  comments  :    "To  engage  on   liking    ...      is  to 
take  a  temporary  trial  of  a  service,  or  business,  with  license  to 
quit  it  at  pleasure." 

36.  Song.     In    a    miscellany    entitled    Westminster    Drollery;    or,    A 

Choice  Collection  of  the  Newest  Songs  and  Poems.  1671,  this 
song  is  twice  printed,  once  under  the  title  .4  Song  at  the  King's 
House,  and  again  under  the  title  A  Vision.     The  former  text 


NOTES  437 

supplies  the  following  variants:  (199)  Which  none  but  Love, 
for;  (203)  Whilst;  (204)  Floicers,  that;  (205)  bright  Vir- 
gins; (207)  temple  .  .  .  shady;  (211)  that  languish; 
(213)  can  my  bliss  and  you;  (214)  lovely  shade;  (220)  For 
rather  then;  (224)  And  yet,  Thus,  thus,  she  cry'd;  (229)  / 
fancy  I  had  done;  (231)  Whilst;  (232)  /  must  ease.  The 
latter  text  supplies  the  following  variants:  (199)  M'hich  Jove 
for  none;  (207)  white  shoulders;  (208)  nor  too;  (210) 
ev'ry  part;  (213)  tcill  you;  (214)  by  Jove  this  lonesome 
shade;  (221)  she  spoke  mcthought ;  (231)  your  scorn. 
41,  402,403.  "That  minute,  etc.  The  quotation  marks  before  these  lines 
in  QqF  are  evidently  meant  to  emphasize  them,  or  to  point 
them  out  as  suitable  for  quotation. 

44,  11.     The  people,  etc.     On  this  passage  Settle  remarks: 

"A  very  pretty  allusion,  contrary  to  all  sense  or  reason. 
Torrents,  I  take  it,  let  'em  wind  never  so  much,  can  never 
return  to  their  former  course,  unless  he  can  suppose  that  foun- 
tains can  go  upwards,  which  is  impossible ;  nay  more,  in  the 
foregoing  page  he  tells  us  so  too ;  a  trick  of  a  very  unfaithful 
memory  : 

liut  can  no  more  then  fountains  upwards  flow. 
Which  of  a  torrent,  which  signifies  a  rapid  stream,  is  much 
more  impossible.  Besides,  if  he  goes  to  quibble,  and  say  that 
't  is  possible  by  art  water  may  be  made  return,  and  the  same 
water  run  twice  in  one  and  the  same  channel  ;  then  he  quite 
confutes  what  he  says  :  for  't  is  by  being  opposed  that  it  runs 
into  its  former  course ;  for  all  engines  that  make  water  so 
return,  do  it  by  compulsion  and  opposition.  Or,  if  he  means 
a  headlong  torrent  for  a  tide,  which  would  be  ridiculous,  yet 
they  do  not  wind  [Settle  prints  ye  do  not  write]  in  volumes 
but  come  fore-right  back  (if  their  upright  lies  straight  to 
their  former  course),  and  that  by  opposition  of  the  sea-water, 
that  drives  'em  back  again."      (Ibid.,  pp.  80,  81.) 

The  criticism  is,  as  usual,  captious  and  unjust.  Dryden 
merely  gives  a  description  of  a  flooded  river  returning  to  its 
former  bed. 

45,  27.     Theirs  restore.    The  grammar  is  peculiar,  the  verb  being  attracted 

into  the  plural  by  the  preceding  possessive. 

46,  GG.     Age  sets  to  fortune.     Sets  to  means  engages  in  play  with:    Com- 

pare, in  the  prologue  to  Dryden's  Secret  Love: 

Then,  for  his  sake,  ne'er  stint  your  own  delight ; 
Throw  boldly,  for  he  sets  to  all  that  write. 

(Ss.  ii.   423.) 

So  the  purport  of  this  somewhat  obscure  passage  seems  to  be  : 

"Age    gambles     (methodically)     against    fortune,    while    youth 

risks  all  on  one  bold  throw." 

47,  45.     Expect.     Wait  for. 

49.  Song.     This  song  is  also  printed  in   Westminster  Drollery,  1071, 

under  the  title,  A  Song  at  the  King's  House;  cf.  n.  30.  That 
text  repeats  the  last  line  in  each  stanza,  and  also  furnishes 
the  following  variants:  (129)  heart  burns;  (132)  mine  eyes; 
(133)  sweet  dream;  (135)  Then  I  sigh;  (136)  being  rival; 
(140)  and  ever. 

50,  194.     Not  in  fault.     The   I  of   fault  was  not  pronounced   in   Dryden's 

time,  so  that  the  rhyme   with   bought  is  correct.     The  modern 


438  NOTES 

pronunciation  is  in  conformity  to  an  "etymological"  spelling. 
Dr.  Johnson  writes  in  his  Dictionary  (1755)  :  "The  I  is  some- 
times sounded  and  sometimes  mute.  In  conversation  it  Is 
generally  suppressed."  Cf.  106,  49,  footnote. 
51,  221.  Benzayda.  The  name  is  pronounced  in  this  play  sometimes  as 
three  syllables,  sometimes  as  four.  See,  for  example,  53,  277 
(where  the  spelling  Benzaiida  occurs  in  Ql)  and  83,  67. 
56,  416.  From  out  their  palaces.  That  is :  frotn  outside  their  palaces ; 
the  construction  is  peculiar. 

419.     If  not,  etc.     Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  413,  414,  124-147. 

431.     Equal.     Just,   impartial. 

58,  29.     Oblige,     In  New  England  this  word  is  still  often  pronounced  so 

as  to  rime  with  siege.     Cf.  63,  89,  90. 

59,  Scene  II.     The  early  editions  indicate  no  change  of  scene.     Ap- 

parently, but  not  certainly,  the  place  shifts  to  the  house  of 
Abenamar.     Compare  note  on  Scene  III,  p.  61. 

OO,  85.  Retrenchment.  A  retrenchment  is  "a  work  constructed  within 
another,  to  prolong  the  defense  of  the  position  when  the  enemy 
has  gained  possession  of  the  outer  work."  (Vi'ehstei-'s  Inter- 
national Dictionary.) 

61.  Scene  III.     Again  the  early  editions  indicate  no  change  of  scene  ; 

perhaps  the  place  was  meant  to  be  the  same  throughout  the 
act. 

6JJ,  48.  Desert.  The  rime  with  part  was  correct  according  to  the  pro- 
nunciation  of   Dryden's    time. 

63,  107.     Where'er  I  go,   etc.     This  passage  may  have  been   suggested  by 

Shakspere,  Coriolanus,  III.  iii  117-124.  Lines  109,  110  are 
ridiculed  in  The  Rehearsal,  415,  201,  202. 

64,  124.     Thou  dar'st,  etc.     Ridiculed  in  The  Rehearsal,  415,  207,  208. 

129.  As  some  fair  tulip,  etc.  This  simile  is  parodied  in  The  Rehearsal, 
399,  15-22.  Boabdelin  observes  Mr.  Bayes's  rule  :  "You  must 
ever  make  a  simile  when  you  are  surpris'd." 

Leigh  remarks  in  The  Censure  of  the  Rota:  "This  tulip 
that  could  hear  the  wind  sing  its  epicedium  after  it  was  dead, 
you  may  be  sure  grew  nowhere  but  in  a  poet's  garden." 

65,  109.     Still.     Always. 

192.     Hardly.     With  difficulty. 

66,  213.     Your  sight.     The   sight   of   you. 

231.     On  another's  hand.     "i.  e.  for  another's  advantage."     Saintsbury. 
249.     Still.     Continually. 

67,  269,  270.  It  teas  your  fault,  etc.    Dryden  seems  to  have  been  impressed 

by  the  absurdity  of  this  couplet  and  to  have  canceled  it  in  the 
second  edition.  It  was  restored  in  the  third  edition,  whether 
by  his  wish  or  not  it  is  hard  to  say. 
yO,  19.  When  forty  comes,  etc.  Born  in  1631,  Dryden  was  thirty-nine  at 
the  time  this  play  was  produced.  The  passage  is  evidently 
meant  to  be  humorous. 

25.  This  year's  delay.     This  apparently  alludes  to  the  lapse  of  a  year 

since  the  production  of  Tyrannic  Love,  Dryden's  last  play, 
despite  a  contract  that  he  had  made  to  write  three  dramas  a 
year  for  the  King's  Company,  in  which  he  was  a  shareholder. 
Cf.  n.  394,  116. 

26.  The  women  were  away.     Nell  Gwyn  had  given  birth  to  Charles 

Beauclerk,  her  son  by  Charles  II,  on  May  8,  1670,  some  time 


NOTES  439 

before  the  production  of  The  Conquest  of  Granada.  Other 
actresses  were  apparently  absent  for  similar  reasons. 

71.  Stimuloa,  etc.     "Emulous  valor  gave  the  stimulus."     Dryden  al- 

ludes, of  course,  to  his  own  efforts  to  surpass  the  earlier  part 
of  his  own  play. 

7)6,  13.  Vizard-mask.  The  vizard-mask,  vizor-mask,  or  vizard  was  in 
public  places  a  mark  of  a  courtesan  ;  hence  the  word  became 
a  cant  term  for  one.  Cf.  152,  4  ;  193,  1.32  f.  In  a  procla- 
mation by  Queen  Anne  for  the  reformation  of  the  stage,  Janu- 
ary 17,  1704,  occurs  the  clause  :  "That  no  woman  be  allowed 
or  presume  to  wear  a  vizard-mask  in  either  of  the  theaters." 
(Ashton,  Social  Life  in  the  Reiyn  of  Queen  Anne,  New  York, 
1883,  p.  255.) 

74,     51.     Assures.     Probably  a  mere  mistake  in  grammar,  made  to  gain  a 

rime.    Verbal  plurals  in  -s  are  found,  however,  in  the  English 

dialects.    The  idiom  may  be  ridiculed  in  The  Rehearsal,  417,  40. 

53.     Tertia.     "A  regiment  of  infantry."     Saintsbuey.     The  editor  has 

been  unable  to  verify  this  definition. 

77,  21.     Wliat  neic,  etc.     Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  421,  12S, 

35.  Curst  be  their  leaders,  etc.  The  following  speeches  reflect  the 
views  of  the  high-flying  Tory  party  to  which  Dryden  belonged, 
and  show  the  satiric  power  which  ten  years  later  reached  per- 
fection in  Absalom  and  Achitophel.  The  line  "They  keep 
the  people's  purses  in  their  hands"  is  of  course  applicable 
only  to  English  conditions." 

78,  76.     Haste,  etc.     Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  421,  126-129. 

79,  128.     So    two    kind    turtles,    etc.      This    simile    is    parodied    in    The 

Rehearsal,  .194,  140-145.  To  justify  It,  Dryden  quotes  from 
"Virgil"  in  the  margin  of  the  second  and  third  quartos  :  Solique 
sedent  in  maryine  ripw.  Soli  cantare  periti.  Arcades.  The 
second  of  these  phrases  is  from  Ecloyue  x.  32,  33 ;  the  first 
may  he  Dryden's  own  invention, — at  all  events  it  is  not  found 
in  Virgil. 
132.     Dropping.     Dripping. 

80,  154.     Fearful.     Cf.  109,  31   (stage  direction),  n. 

81,  212.     Rakes  up.     "Not  in   the  usual   sense  of  'stirring  up,'  but  in  that 

of  'rakes  the  ashes  over,'  'banks  up.'  "     [Saintsbury.] 
»4,      86.     Faults.     V.  n.  50,   194. 

86,  17.     Hyena.    "Hiena.     A  subtle  Beast  like  a  Wolf,  having  a  main  and 

hair  on  his  body,  counterfeiting  the  voice  of  a  man  ;  in  the 
night  it  will  call  shepherds  out  of  their  houses,  and  kill  them  ; 
he  is  sometime  Male  and  sometime  Female."  H[enry]  C[ock- 
eram].  The  English  Dictionary,  ed.  11,  London,  1658,  part  3. 
18.  The  weeping  crocodile,  "Crocodile  .  .  .Having  eaten  the 
body  of  a  man  it  will  weep  over  the  head,  but  in  fine  eat  head 
also ;  thence  came  the  Proverb,  She  shed  Crocodile  tears,  viz. 
feigned  tears."  Ibid. 
Cf.  244,  225,  and.  In  Shakspere : 

Henry  my  lord  is  cold  in  great  affairs, 

Too  full  of  foolish  pity,  and  Gloucester's  show 

Beguiles  him  as  the  mournful  crocodile 

With  sorrow  snares  relenting  passengers. 

2  Henry  VI,   III.   1.   224-227. 

87,  49.     Lets.     Hindrances. 
59.     Alferez.     Ensign. 


440  NOTES 

90,  7.     Still.     Always. 

91,  39.     Thei/  be.     As  Leigh  remarks  in  The  Censure  of  the  Rota,  Dryden 

here  uses  an  idiom  that  he  condemns  in  Jonson.  v.  141,  40. 
9*,  80.  Calenture.  A  kind  of  tropical  fever,  accompanied  by  delirium. 
The  word  is  of  Spanish  origin,  through  the  French,  and  Dry- 
den may  well  have  found  it  in  one  of  his  sources.  For 
parallel  passages  Saintsbury  refers  to  Wordsworth's  Brothers 
and  Heine's  Seegespenst. 
105.  Spite  of  myself,  etc.  This  passage  is  parodied  in  The  Rehearsal, 
416,  209,  210.  Dryden,  in  the  second  and  third  quartos, 
defends  it  by  citing  in  the  margin  Virgil's  phrase  possunt 
quia  posse  videntur  (Mneid,  v.  231),  "They  are  able,  because 
they  seem  to  be  able." 

93,  14.     The   (iross-dauh'd    landscape.      At   this    time    the    figure   had    the 

charm  of  novelty,  since  painted  scenery  of  a  sort  approaching 
our  own  had  first  been  used  in  Davenant's  Siege  of  Rhodes. 
V.  Introduction,  p.  xvii ;  8,  6. 
25.  You !  etc.  Before  this  line  SsM  insert  the  stage-direction,  sighing 
and  going  off.  Before  the  next  line  they  similarly  insert, 
approaching  him. 

94,  61.     Bright,  etc.      "Crystal   is  a  bright   stone   and    clear,    with   watery 

colour.     Men   trowe  that  it  is  of  snow   or  ice  made   hard  in 
space  of  many  years."     Steele^  Mediicval  Lore  from  Bartholo- 
mew Anglicus,  London,  1905,  p.  37. 
Fault.     V.  n.   50,   194. 

May  Turnus'  fate,  etc.    v.  ^ncid,  xii,  938f. 

Libration.     The  word  refers  to  any  motion  like  that  of  a  balance 
before    coming    to    rest.      Probably    no    definite    metaphor    is 
intended  here. 
In  revenge.     In  compensation,  to  make  up  for  it. 
Fault.     V.  n.  50,  194. 
(stage  direction).     Fearful.     Timid,  timorous,  as  in  All  for  Love, 

253,  89,  and  often  in  Shakspere. 
Attend.     Await. 

/  am  the  ghost,  etc.     Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  412,  76,  77. 
Since  thy,  etc.     Cf.  348,  161,  n. 
Who  dares,  etc.     Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  415,  189. 
To  comply.     As  to  comply. 
lis,  279.     But  image-like,  etc.     "The   reference   seems  to  be   to  the   excuse 
for   image-worship, — that   the   images  are   not    intended   to   be 
directly  adored,   but   merely   to   fix  and  stimulate   the  devotion 
of  the  worshiper."     [Saintsbury.] 
120,  341.     Damn   your  delay,   etc.     Admirably   parodied   by   Fielding : 
D — n  your  delay,  you  trifler,  are  you  drunk,  ha? 
I  will  not  hear  one  word  but  Huncamunca. 

The  Tragedy  of  Tragedies,  II.  x.  10,  11. 
12a,  37.  Dar'd  like  a  lark.  To  dare  larks  is  "to  catch  them  by  produc- 
ing terror  through  the  use  of  mirrors,  scarlet  cloth,  a  hawk, 
etc.,  so  that  they  lie  still  till  a  net  is  thrown  over  them." 
(Webster's  International  Dictionary.) 
128,  51.  Frank  gamesters.  Frank  here  has  the  sense  of  generous,  lavish. 
Such  a  gamester  must  cease  playing  or  become  bankrupt.  The 
Hew  English  Dictionary  quotes  from  Etherege :  "Lose  it  all 
like  a  frank  gamester  on  the  square."  (The  Man  of  Mode, 
V.  i.) 


96, 

136. 

144. 

97, 

192. 

103, 

114. 

IOC. 

49. 

lOO, 

31 

113, 

67. 

114, 

95. 

115, 

145. 

156. 

117. 

22.3 

NOTES  441 

130,  126.     'Tis  as  the  wren,  etc.     v.  n.  254.  139. 

7.     /    will   advance,   etc.     This   passage    most    unfortunately    escaped 
satire  in   The  Rehearsal. 
133,   115.     Stabbiiu/  her.     Cf.  139,  32,  n. 

135,  208.     But.  uhcii,  etc.     Dryden  seems  to  have  modeled  the  conclusion  of 

his  play  on  that  of  Corneille's  Cid  (1636).  In  that  drama  the 
heroine,  Chimene,  at  the  instance  of  the  King  of  Spain  and  of 
the  Infanta,  consents  to  accept  the  hand  of  her  lover  Rod- 
riguo,  who  has  been  forced  by  honor  to  meet  her  father  in  a 
duel,  and  who  has  killed  him.  Kodrigue,  however,  must  await 
her  a  year,  which  he  is  to  spend  in  combat  with  the  Moors. 

136,  6.     Cob's    tankard,    etc.     "The    characters    alluded    to    arc    Cob,    the 

water-bearer,  in  Every  Man  in  his  Humor,  and  Captain  Otter, 
in  Epicwne;  or.  The  Silent  Woman,  whose  humor  it  was  to 
christen  his  drinking  cups  by  the  names  of  Horse,  Bull,  and 
Bear."     Scott. 

DEFENSE  OF  THE   EPILOGUE 

On  this  essay  as  a  whole,  see  Introduction,  p.  xxxi. 

137,  23.     Inocniis,  etc.     Horace,  Epistles,  II.  i.   88,  89. 

138,  1.     LucUium  luttilentuin  ftiicre.     Horace,  Satires,  I.  x.  50. 

7.  Si  forct,  etc.  Horace,  Satires,  I.  x.  68-70.  In  the  second  line 
detrahcret  is  incorrectly  quoted  for  dctcreret.  "Yet  he  also, 
had  fate  put  off  his  days  to  our  age,  would  rub  out  many  a 
line,  and  prune  all  that  exceeded  a  perfect  finish"  (Lonsdale 
and  Lee's  translation). 

11.     Epistle  to  Augustus.     Epistles,  II.   i. 

34.  Quintilian.  "i.  e.-  in  the  Dialogue  De  Oratoribus,  which  was 
sometimes  ascribed  to  Quintilian,  and  regarded  as  the  book 
of  which  he  speaks  in  Inst.  vi.  iproaemium)  and  viii.  6.  76: 
'Sed  de  hoc  satis  quia  eundem  locum  plenius  in  eo  libro  quo 
causas  corruptte  cloquentiiB  roddebamus  tractavimus.'  "  [Ker.] 
This  Dialogue  is  now  ascribed,  with  some  hesitation,  to 
Tacitus. 
13d,  10.  Some  solecism,  etc.  In  Dryden's  time  historical  English  grammar 
was  an  unknown  science.  Nor  had  it  made  much  progress 
in  1808,  when  Scott  wrote  the  following  quaint  note  : 

"In  mitigation  of  the  censure  which  must  be  passed  on 
our  author  for  this  hasty  and  ill-considered  judgment,  let  us 
remember  the  very  inaccurate  manner  in  which  Shakspere's 
plays   were   printed    in    the   early   editions." 

Yet  Malone  in  1800  had  already  given  the  true  explana- 
tion:  "These  notorious  flaus  in  sense,  I  conceive,  will  be 
found  only  by  those  who  are  not  well  acquainted  with  the 
phraseology  of  Shakspere's  time,  as  undoubtedly  our  author 
was  not  when  he  wrote  this  piece." 

14.  Nequv  cijo,  etc.  Horace,  Satires,  I.  x.  48,  49,  with  a  change  of 
illi  to  illis.  "Nor  would  I  venture  to  pluck  from  his  brows  the 
crown  that  is  fixed  there  with  so  much  glory"  {Lonsdale  and 
Lee's  translation). 

21.     /  suppose,  etc.      Scott's   note   has  again   a   quaint  flavor : 

"Mr.  Malone  has  Judiciously  remarked  that  Dryden  seems 
to  have  been  ignorant  of  the  order  in  which  Shakspere  wrote 
his  plajs;  and   there  will   be  charity   in  believing  that  he  was 


442  NOTES 

not   intimately   acquainted    with    those   he    so    summarily    and 
unjustly    censures." 

32.  He   will   see,   etc.      v.    Philaster.    IV.    ill,    iv.      Cf.    288,    531,    5.32. 

Yet  Dryden  seems  to  fail  into  the  same  "indecency"  in  this 
very  play ;    v.  133,  115. 

35.  Direrts  you,  etc.  In  Dryden's  own  tragi-comedies  the  two  ele- 
ments arc  kept  fairly  separate,  not,  as  often  in  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists,  mingled  in  the  same  scene.  On  this  whole  question, 
cf.  Introduction,  pp.  xxii,  1-lii. 

37.  You  find  his  Demetrius,  etc.  v.  The  Humorous  Lieutenant,  II.  ii ; 
IV.  iv.  Dryden  himself  commits  even  a  worse  absurdity  when, 
in  The  Indian  Emperor,  ho  attributes  chivalric  gallantry  to  the 
natives  of  Mexico.  Similarly,  in  The  Indian  Queen,  by  Dry- 
den and  Howard,  the  Indians  of  Mexico  and  Peru  wage  land 
campaigns  against  each  other,  despite  all  geographical 
obstacles.  Scott's  note  on  this  subject  is  much  to  the  point : 
"In  these  criticisms,  we  see  the  effects  of  the  refinement 
which  our  stag?  had  now  borrowed  from  the  French.  It  is 
probable  that,  in  the  age  of  heroic  plays,  any  degree  of  dull- 
ness, or  extravagance,  would  have  been  tolerated  in  the 
dialogue,  rather  than  an  offense  against  the  decorum  of  the 
scene." 

40.  And  for  his  Shepherd,  etc.  v.  The  Faithful  Shepherdess,  III.  i ; 
IV.  iv. 

49.  Content  with  acorns.  "Acorns  are  part  of  the  stock  of  the 
Golden  Age.     Compare  Virgil,  Georgics,  i.  7,  8  : 

Liber  et  alma  Ceres,  vestro  si  munere  tellus 
Chaoniam  pingui  glandem  mutavit  arista." 

Ker. 

aX(9      Spvos.  "Cicero,  ad.  Att.  ii.  19 :     'Dices  fortasse  "dig- 

nitatis dXis    tamquam  hpv6<;:     saluti,   si   me  amas,   consule."  ' 
'Enough  of  oak,'  as  the  ancients  said  when  they  grew  tired  of 
acorns."     Ker. 
140,     15.     Cwdimus,  etc.     Persius,  iv.  42.     Dryden's  translation  is : 
Thus  others  we  with  defamations  wound, 
While  they  stab  us ;    and  so  the  jest  goes  round. 
16.     Three  or  four  first  pages.    The  mistake  of  last  for  first,  originally 
made  by  Malone,  has  been  copied  in  the  modern  editions  ;   see 
footnote.      As   a   matter   of   fact,    the   quotations   which    follov^ 
are  nearly  all  from  the  early  pages  of  Catiline.     The  first  three 
and  the  fifth   {What  all,  etc.)   are  from  the  monologue  of  the 
ghost  of  Sylla  with  which  the  tragedy  opens. 

28.  Qain'd.     Incorrectly   quoted   for   Jonson's   got. 

29.  Doubt.     Suspect,   as  often   in  Dryden  and  his  contemporaries. 

33.  Synchysis.     "Cicero    discusses    the    placing    of    words    in    Orator, 

c.  44f ;     crvyT^ucris    is  not  found  in  this  ccntext,  but  is  used 

in  his  letters,  e.  g.  avy^vcnv  litterularum,  Att.  vi.  9." 
Ker. 

35.  The  leaves,  etc.  From  a  speech  of  Cethegus  early  in  the  first 
act  of  Catiline.  Waves  is  incorrectly  quoted  for  Jonson's 
maics,  probably  a  printer's  error  due  to  Dryden's  hasty  hand- 
writing. 

37.  The  preposition  in  the  end  of  the  sentenee,  etc.  "He  [Dryden] 
accordingly,  on  a  revision,  corrected  this  inaccuracy  in  every 
sentence  of  his  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  in  whkli  it  occurred." 


NOTES  448 

[Malone.]  The  revision  came  between  the  first  edition  of  the 
Essay  (1668)  and  the  second  (1684).  See  Ss  and  K  for  notice 
of  such  variants. 
40.  Plague.  Incorrectly  quoted  for  .Jonson's  plagues. 
141,  1.  Go  on  upon,  etc.  This  and  the  following  quotation  are  from  the 
second  long  speech  of  Catiline,  near  the  opening  of  the 
tragedy.  It  seems  useless  to  defend  .lonson  from  Dryden's 
strictures,  which  may  lie  answered  by  any  one  who  has  studied 
Shakspere  in  a  modern  annotated  edition.  {Oo  on  upon,  for 
example,  is  easily  seen,  without  the  assistance  of  Scott's  note, 
to  mean  ;jo  on  af/ainst.)  Dryden's  remarks,  however,  make  U3 
understand  the  rapid  changes  that  had  taken  place  in  English 
in  the  si.^ty  years  that  intervened  between  Catiline  and  The 
Conquest  of  (Jianada.  They  are  probably  greater  than  those 
that  have  occurred  between  Dryden's  time  and  our  own.  In 
the  fixing  of  modern  English  usage  Dryden's  own  part  is  by 
no  means  insignificant. 

Dryden   himself  apparently   recognized    the   blunder   he   had 
made,    for    in    the    third    edition     (1678)    of    The    Conquest    of 
Granada    he   omits   most    of    these    strictures    on    Jonson.      See 
footnote,  p.  137. 
11.     Pulls.     Incorrectly  quoted  for  Jonson's  puts. 

13.  Ones,    in    the  plural   niintbir.      I'rofessor    Ker   points   out    (vol.    i, 

p.  :V2)  that  Dryden  changed  amongst  the  great  ones  in  the 
first  edition  of  An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  to  amongst  great 
persons  in  the  second. 

14.  Wanted.     Lacked. 

15.  Cwsar,  etc.     Catiline,  IV.  ii   (speech  of  Cicero). 
17.     Such  men,  etc.     Ibid.   IV.   i    (near  close). 

19.  Tho'  heav'n,  etc.  Ibid,  (same  scene,  earlier)  ;  Dryden  omits  a 
few  words  after  once. 

21.  Vnfear'd.  In  Elizaljethan  English  fear  is  common  as  an  active 
verb,  in  the  sense  of  frighten. 

23.  The  ports  are  open.  Ibid.  IV,  ii  (speech  of  Cicero).  Malone 
remarks  :  "Ports  for  gates  ...  is  found  in  many  of  our 
ancient  writers,  and  is  yet  the  common  language  of  Scotland." 

28.  Mr.  Waller,  etc.  Dryden  had  praised  Waller  in  similar  fashion 
in  the  Epistle  Dedicatory  of  The  Rival  Ladies  (1664)  :  "nut 
the  excellence  and  dignity  of  it  [rime]  were  never  fully  known 
till  Mr.  Waller  taught  it;  he  first  made  writing  easily  an  art; 
first  showed  us  to  conclude  the  sense  most  commonly  in  dis- 
tichs,  which,  in  the  verse  of  those  before  him,  runs  on  for 
so  many  lines  together,  that  the  reader  is  out  of  breath  to 
overtake  it."  (K.  i.  7;  Ss.  ii.  1.37.)  Waller's  fame  as  a 
reformer  of  English  poetry  became  a  commonplace  In  the 
eighteenth  century,  only  to  be  cruelly  overthrown  in  the  nine- 
teenth. 

.30.  But  being,  etc.  Ibid.  IV.  ii  (speech  of  Cicero).  Jonson's  text 
reads:      But   being   bred   in   's,  etc. 

36.  So  Asia,  etc.  These  lines  conclude  the  chorus  after  the  first  act 
of  Catiline.  Jonson's  text  reads,  art  thou  cru'tly  (I.  .■?6)  and 
virtue  (1.  .38). 

40.     Be,  etc.     Cf.  91,  .39,  n. 
14se,      '2:i.     Quern   prnrn,  etc.      Horace,  Ars  Poet.   72.      "The   lord   and   arbiter 
and  rigliiful  legislator  of  language"   (Lonsdale  and  Lee'a  trans- 
lation). 


444  NOTES 

24.  /  cannot  approve,  etc.  Dryden  himself  has  been  accused  of  a 
fondness  for  Gallicisms.  The  subject  is  exhaustively  treated 
In  a  thesis  by  Professor  A.  Beljame,  Quce  e  Oallicis  verbis  in 
Anijlicam  Unfjuam  Johannes  Dryden  introduxerit  (Paris,  1881). 
Professor  Beljame  concludes  that  Dryden  played  no  small  part 
in  the  naturalizing  of  French  words  during  the  Restoration 
period. 

34.     Aurum,  etc.     "Gather  gold  from  dung." 

42.  Dixctis,  etc.  Horace,  Ars  Poet.  47,  48.  "You  will  express  your- 
self excellently  well,  if  by  a  curious  combination  you  make  a 
familiar  word  seem  original"   {Lonsdale  and  Lee's  translation). 

143,  4.     Et  vultus,  etc.     Horace,  Odes,  I.  xix.  8.     "Her  face,  too  dazzling- 

dangerous  to  behold"  (Ibid.). 
8.  Et  Horatii,  etc.  Petronius,  Sat.  118.  "Horace's  felicity  gained  by 
diligence." 
38.  'Wit  in  a  larger  signification.  The  following  passages  from  the 
preface  to  Annus  Mirabilis  may  explain  Dryden's  idea  of  "wit, 
in  a  larger  signification,"  which,  as  Professor  Ker  points  out, 
is  practically  equivalent  to  poetical  genius.  "Wit  writing 
.  .  .  is  no  other  than  the  faculty  of  imagination  in  the 
writer  .  .  .  which  searches  over  all  the  memory  for  the 
species  or  ideas  of  those  things  which  it  designs  to  represent. 
IV'it  Written  is  that  which  is  well  defin'd,  the  happy  result  of 
thought,  or  product  of  imagination."    (K.  i.  14;    Ss.  ix.  95,96.) 

144,  4.     Clenches.     Puns,     plays    on     words.       Dryden     expresses    similar 

detestation  of  them   in  An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy.      (K.    i. 
31;    Ss.  XV.  286.) 
10.     How  monstrous,  etc.     The  lines  are  from  the  induction  to  Every 
Man   out  of  his  Humor.     "To   talie   in   snuff"    means   "to   take 
offense."     There  is  a  similar  clench  in  Shakspere  : 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet  box,  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose  and  took't  away  again  ; 
Who    therewith    angry,    when    it   next    came    there, 
Took  it  in   snuff. 

1  Henry  IV,  I.   iii.   37-41. 
16.     /  mar'le,  etc.     Ibid.,   spoken   by   Carlo   Buffone.      Dryden   a   few 
lines  below  seems  to  assign  the  quotation  to  Macilente.    Jonson 
has  he'd  (1.  3)   in  place  of  he  tcould. 
19.     O,  I  cannot,  etc.     Also  spoken  by  Carlo  Buffone  :  see  Every  Man 

out  of  His  Humour,  IV.  iv. 
22.     Sting  of  an  epigram.     Here  Dryden   refers  to  the  last  couplet  of 

Jonson's  epigram.  Cf.  n.  9,  32. 
33.  A  famous  Italian,  etc.  Professor  Ker,  in  an  excellent  note  on 
this  passage,  fails  to  identify  the  "famous  Italian,"  but  shows 
that  conceits  had  really  made  their  way  into  pulpit  oratory. 
48.  He  said  himself,  etc.  One  could  wish  that  this  anecdote  were 
authentic,  but  there  seems  to  be  no  other  evidence  for  it. 

145,  6.     Fletcher's  Don  John.     v.  Introduction,  p.  xxxiii. 

28.  Blackfriars.  One  of  the  most  famous  theaters  of  "the  former 
age."     At  it  several  of  Jonson's  plays  were  first  produced. 

31.  In  Apollo.  "The  Apollo  was  Ben  Jonson's  favorite  clubroom  in 
the  Devil  Tavern.  The  custom  of  adopting  his  admirers  and 
imitators,  by  bestowing  upon  them  the  title  of  son,  is  often 
alluded   to   in   his   works.      In   Dryden's   time   the   fashion    had 


NOTES  445 

so  far  changed  Ihat  the  poetical  progeny  of  old  Ben  seem  to 
have  Incurred  more  ridicule  than  honor  by  this  aml)itious 
distinction.  Oldwit,  in  Shadwcll's  play  called  Bury  Fair,  is 
described  as  'a  paltry  old-fasliioued  wit  and  punner  of  the 
last  age,  that  pretends  to  have  been  one  of  Ren  Jonson's  sons, 
and  to  have  seen  plays  at  the  Blacltfriars.'  "     Scott. 

Oldwit  himself  says,  in  the  first  scene  of  the  play  men- 
tioned :  "I  myself,  simple  as  I  stand  here,  was  a  wit  In  the 
last  age :  I  was  created  Ren  Jonson's  son  in  tlie  Apollo. 
.  .  .  I  was  a  critic  at  Rlacicfriars  ;  but  at  Cambridge,  none 
so  great  as  I  with  Jack  Cleveland.  But  Tom  Randolph  and 
I  were  hand  and  glove." 

Among   other   noted  "sons"  of  Ben  Jonson,    besides   Cleve- 
land   and    Randolph,    were   Brome,    Cartwright,    Sucliling,    Her- 
rick,  and  Howell. 
14C,     24.     Greatness  or  perfect  honor.     Compare  Introduction,  pp.  xs.vi\-xx[i.. 


MARKIAGE  A  LA  MODE 

Malone  dates  the  flrst  production  of  Marriaye  d  la  Mode  in  May,  1672. 
Tlie  opening  lines  of  ttie  prologue,  he  argues,  "allude  to  the  equipment  of 
the  fleet  which  afterwards  engaged  the  Dutch  off  Southwold  Bay,  May  l.'8th, 
1672"  {Prose  Works  of  John  Drydcn,  I.  i.  106).  The  play  is  mentioned  in 
the  Term  Catalogue  for  Trinity  Term,  1673,  which  was  licensed  for  the 
press  on  June  16. 

The  time  of  action  of  this  tragi-comedy  is  two  days  or  a  trifle  less ;  the 
place  is  confined  to  a  single  town  in   Sicily. 

For  general  information  on  Marriage  a  la  Mode,  see  Introduction,  pp. 
xxxiii-xxxv. 

Dryden's  quotation  from  Horace  on  his  title-page  means :  "Be  I  what  I 
may,  though  far  below  Lucilius  in  station  and  genius,  yet,  that  I  have  lived 
with  the  great,  Envy  can  never  deny,  though  fain  she  would,  and  while 
seeking  to  fix  her  tooth  on  something  fragile,  will  meet  with  what  is  solid" 
(Lonsdale  and  Lee's  translation).  By  it  he  hints  at  his  intimacy  with 
Rochester,  of  which  he  boasts  In  his  dedication. 

DEDICATION 

140.  The   Earl    of   Rochester.      "The    patron    whom    Dryden    here   ad- 

dresses was  the  famous  John  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester  (1647- 
80),  the  wittiest,  perhaps,  and  most  dissolute,  among  the 
witty  and  dissolute  courtiers  of  Charles  II.  It  is  somewhat 
remarkable,  and  may  be  considered  as  a  just  judgment  upon 
the  poet,  that  he  was,  a  few  years  afterwards,  waylaid  and 
severely  beaten  by  bravos  whom  Lord  Rochester  employed  to 
revenge  the  share  which  Dryden  is  supposed  to  have  had  In 
the  Essay  upon  Satire.  That  occurrence  Is  a  striking  Illus- 
tration of  the  inutility,  as  well  as  meanness,  of  Ill-applied 
praise ;  since  even  the  eulogy  of  Dryden,  however  liberally 
bestowed  and  beautifully  expressed,  failed  to  save  him  from 
the  most  unmanly  treatment  at  the  hands  of  the  worthless  and 
heartless  object  on  whom  it  was  wasted.  It  is  melancholy  to 
see  Dryden,  as  may  be  fairly  inferred  from  his  motto,  piqueing 
himself  on  being  admitted  into  the  society  of  such  men  as 
Rochester,  and  enjoying  their  precarious  favor.  It  would  seem, 
however,  that  this  dedication  was  very  favorably  received  by 
Rochester,  since  a  letter  of  Dryden's  to  that  nobleman  is  still 
extant  (v.  Ss.  xviii.  91-96),  in  which  he  acknowledges  a  flat- 
tering return  of  compliment  from  his  lordship  in  exchange  for 
it."     [Scott.] 

The  quarrel  between  Dryden  and  Rochester  that  resulted 
in  the  assault  to  which  Scott  here  alludes  was,  briefly,  as 
follows :  At  some  time  after  the  production  of  Marriage  a  la 
Mode,  probably  not  before  1677,  (since  Dryden,  In  1678,  seems 
to  be  replying  to  a  recent  attack,)  the  fickle  nobleman  made 
slighting  allusions  to  Dryden  in  his  Trial  of  the  Poets  for  the 
'Bays  and  his  Allusion  to  the  Tenth  Satire  of  the  First  Book 

446 


NOTES  447 

of  Horace;  see  Introduction,  p.  xxxv,  n.  3,  and  nn.  231,  30 ; 
3434,  13.  Dryden,  In  return,  ridiculed  Rochester  in  his  preface 
to  All  for  Love  (1678),  terming  him,  for  example,  a  "riming 
judge  of  the  twolvepenny  gallery"  (233,  38).  In  the  mean- 
time, another  nobleman,  the  Earl  of  Mulgrave,  a  patron  of 
Dryden  and  an  enemy  of  Rochester,  had  written  (according 
to  his  own  account,  in  1675)  an  Essay  upon  Satire,  in  which 
he  ridiculed  Rochester  unsparingly.  This  piece  became  public 
property  in  November,  1679,  when  it  was  circulated  anony- 
mously, since  it  was  the  custom  of  noble  lampooners  to  hide 
the  authorship  of  their  productions.  (Rochester  himself  fol- 
lowed this  practice  ;  v.  233,  37-43.)  Public  opinion  attributed 
the  piece  to  Dryden,  who  may  possibly  have  given  Mulgrave 
some  help  in  his  worli.  (Much  later,  in  1717,  Mulgrave  stated 
that  Dryden  was  "not  only  innocent,  but  ignorant,  of  the 
whole  matter ;"  these  words  may  refer  either  to  the  poem  as 
a  whole,  or  to  the  attack  on  Rochester  contained  in  It ;  see 
note  in  DryOcn's  Poetical  Works,  Boston,  1908.  pp.  90.'5,  906.) 
In  revenge  for  the  fancied  insult,  Rochester  had  Dryden  set 
upon  and  beaten  by  hired  rnlBans,  in  Rose  Street,  Covent 
Garden,  on  the  evening  of  December  18,  1679,  as  he  was 
returning  from  Will's  Coffee-House.  Though  a  reward  was  offered 
for  the  discovery  of  the  offenders,  or  their  employer,  no  one  was 
ever  brought  to  justice  for  the  crime  ;  Rochester's  guilt,  how- 
ever, is  made  practically  certain  by  a  passage  in  one  of  his 
letters  :  see  ^lalone,  I.  1.  134.  Such  was  the  low  state  of  Eng- 
lish public  morals  that  Dryden's  misfortune  created  amusement 
rather  than  sympathy.  I-'ven  Mulgrave.  who  had  been  the  occa- 
sion of  this  cowardly  assault,  referred  to  it  with  no  touch  of 
indignation  in  his  Essay  on  Poetry,  first  published  in  1682  : 
The  Laureate  here  [in  satire]  may  justly  claim  our  praise, 
Crown'd  by  Mac  Flecknoc  with  immortal  bays  ; 
Tho'  prals'd  and  punish'd  for  another's  rimes, 
His  own  deserve  as  great  applause  sometimes. 
In  his  Discourse  Concernituj  Satire  (1692)  Dryden  shows 
his  dislilco  to  the  memory  of  his  former  patron  ;  v.  Ss.  xlii.  5. 
17.  They  have  copied,  etc.  Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  391,  96-106. 
150,  17.  Are  yet  persecuted,  etc.  "When  this  play  was  acted  for  the  flnt 
time  in  1672.  But  about  1675,  Rochester  contrived  to  give 
such  offense  as  even  'the  excellent  temper  of  his  royal  mas- 
ter' was  unable  to  digest.  This  was  by  writing  a  lampoon 
called  The  Insipids,  in  which  the  person  and  character  of 
Charles  are  treated  with  most  merciless  and  irreverent  sever- 
ity.    It  begins  thus  : 

Chaste,  pious,  prudent,  Charles  the  Second, 

The  miracle  of  thy  Restoration 
May  like  to  that  of  quails  be  reckoned, 

Rained  on  the  Israelitish  nation  ; 
The  wlshed-for  blessini;,  from  heaven  sent. 
Became  their  curse  and  punishment. 
For   this   satiric  effusion    the    author   was  banished   from   the 
Court."      [Scott.] 

The  editor  has  been  unable  to  verify  the  statements  in  this 
note.  The  Insipids  is  printed  without  comment  in  Poems  on 
Affairs  of  State,  ed.  5,  London,  1703,  vol.   I,  part  I,  pp.   149- 


448  NOTES 

154.     In  the  same  volume,  p.  171,  occurs  a  still  viler  lampoon, 
headed  On  Kiny  Chariot,  by  the  Earl  of  Rochester;  For  which 
he  was  banish'd  the  Court,  axd  tiirn'd  Mountebank.     This  note 
may  be  tbe  origin  of  Scott's  statement. 
19.      To  own  it.     As  to  own  it. 

TEXT 
IS'Z.  rnoLOGPE.     This    was    spoken,    as    Cgd    informs    us,     "by    Mr. 

Heart ;"  that  is,  Hart,  the  chief  actor  in  the  King's  Compaay. 
He  took  the  part  of  Palamede  in  this  drama  ;  in  The  Con- 
quest of  GraiKidd  he  played   Almanzor. 

4.  Vizard,    v.  n.  72,  13. 

5.  France,  etc.      England   was  now   in   alliance   with    France   against 

Holland. 

18.  Grinninii  honor.  '-Falstaff.  I  like  not  such  grinning  honor  as 
Sir  Walter  hath.  Give  me  life,  which  if  I  can  save,  so;  if 
not,  honor  comes  unlook'd  for,  and  there's  an  end."  1  Henry 
IV,  V.  iii.  G2-65.     Cf.  233,  1. 

24.     Half-crown.     The  price  of  admission  to  the  pit. 

2.5.     The  Mall.     Cf.  218,  20,  n. 

26.  So  far  will  hardly  come.  The  Theater  Royal  was  burnt  on 
January  2.5,  1G72.  The  King's  Company  thereupon  moved 
to  the  old  house  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  which  had  formerly 
been  occupied  by  their  rivals  the  Duke's  Company,  but  had 
been  abandoned  b.v  them  in  November,  1671,  on  the  com- 
pletion of  a  new  theater  at  Dorset  Garden.  (See  Percy  Fitz- 
Gerald,  A  New  History  of  the  Enylisli  Stage,  i.  137  ;  R.  W. 
Lowe,  Thomas  Betterton,  p.  117.) 
153,     30.     They.     The  members  of  the  Duke's  Company. 

31.  Cutting  Morccruft-  "In  the  conclusion  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher's  play  of  The  l<cornful  Lady,  Morecraft,  an  usurer, 
turns  a  cutter,  or,  as  we  now  say,  a  buck.  Dryden  seems 
to  allude  to  Ravenscroft's  play  of  The  Citizen  turned  Oentle- 
vian,  a  transmigration  somewhat  resembling  that  of  cutting 
Morecraft.  This  play  was  now  acting  by  the  Duke's  Com- 
pany in  Dorset  Gardens,  which,  from  its  situation,  says  Mr. 
Malone,  v.as  much  frequented  by  citizens,  as  here  insinuated." 
Scott. 

Scott  here  adopts  a  conjecture  of  Malone  (I.  i.  107),  which 
does  not  seem  convincing.  The  reference  is  more  probably  to 
some  revival  of  The  Scornful  Lady,  of  which  record  has  been 
lost.  According  to  Langbaine,  Ravenscroft's  Citi.::en  turned 
Gentleman  was  a  combination  of  Moliere's  Bourgeois  Gentil- 
homme  with  Monsieur  dc  Pourceaugnac. 

155.  Walks   near   the   Court.     Apparently   the   action    remains   in    some 

part  of  these  walks  throughout  the  play,  except  in  act  IV, 
scenes  iii  and  iv.  Except  for  the  former  of  these  scenes,  no 
further  indication  of  the  place  of  action  is  given  in  the  early 
editions. 
3.  Why  should,  etc.  This  song  is  also  printed  in  New  Court  8ongs 
and  Poems,  hy  R.  Y.,  Gent.,  1672.  That  text  furnishes  the  fol- 
lowing variants:  (12)  further  joys;  (14)  can  give;  (17) 
When  all;    (18)  And  neither. 

156,  33.     To  repeat  tvith  a  good  memory.     Cf.  150,  4-7. 

158,   168.     Broad-gold.     After  tbe  introduction  of  guineas  in  1663,  the  twenty- 
shilling  pieces  of  the  preceding  reigns,  which  were  broader  and 


NOTES  449 

thinner  than  the  new  milled  coinage,  were  called  broad-pieces 
or  broad-gold.  They  were  much  subject  to  mutilation  by 
clipping. 

159,  174.     Prcienis.     Anticipates,   comes   before,   as  often   in   Dryden's  time. 
178.     Miinufjcs.     It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  sense  is  husband,  econo- 
mize, or  simply  handle,  make  use  of. 
Amalthea.     Professor  J.  W.  Tupper,  in  an  article  on  The  I'clation 
of  the  Heroic  Play  to  the  Romances  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
points    out    the    resemblance    in    character    between    Amalthea 
and  the  "lovelorn  maidens"  of  the  earlier  dramatists,  such  as 
Aspatia    in    The   Maid's    Tragedy   and    Euphrasia    in   Philaster. 
(Publications  of  the  Modern  Lanyuayc  Association  of  America, 
1905,  vol.  XX,  pp.  610-612.) 
206.     How  keeps,  etc.     The  scene  now  begins  to  pass  from  prose  into 
a  sort  of  irregular  verse.     Some  of  the  following  speeches  have 
a    rhythmical    turn,    which,    however,    is    not    indicated    in    the 
early   editions   until   lino   22:?. 

103,    342.     Hence   ivith   him!   etc.      On    this   whole   scene   compare    The   Re- 
hearsal, 40(>,  41-70. 
345.     Eudoxia.     This    name    later    (185,    359,    360,    303)    appears    as 

Eudocia. 
356.     Leave  to  threaten.     Leave  off  threatening. 

165,  Melantiia.     The  following  passage  from  CoUey  Gibber's  Apology 

(quoted  by  Scott)  may  give  an  idea  of  what  the  part  of 
Melantha  could  become   in   the  hands  of  a  fine  actress  : 

"What  found  most  employment  for  her  [Mrs.  Mountfort's] 
whole  various  excellence  at  once,  was  the  part  of  Melantha, 
in  Marriage  a  la  Mode.  Melantha  is  as  finished  an  imperti- 
nent as  ever  fluttered  in  a  drawing-room,  and  seems  to  con- 
tain the  most  complete  system  of  female  foppery  that  could 
possibly  be  crowded  into  the  tortured  form  of  a  fine  lady. 
Her  language,  dress,  motion,  manners,  soul,  and  body,  are  in 
a  continual  hurry  to  be  something  more  than  is  necessary  or 
commendable.  And  though  I  doubt  it  will  be  a  vain  labor,  to 
offer  you  a  just  likeness  of  Mrs.  Mountforfs  [Gibber's  spell- 
ing is  Monfort]  action,  yet  the  fantastic  impression  is  still 
so  strong  in  my  memory,  that  I  cannot  help  saying  some- 
thing, though  fantastically,  about  it.  The  first  ridiculous 
airs  that  break  from  her  are  upon  a  gallant,  never  seen 
before,  who  delivers  her  a  letter  from  her  father,  recommend- 
ing him  to  her  good  graces,  as  an  honorable  lover.  Here  now 
one  would  think  she  might  naturally  shew  a  little  of  the  sex's 
decent  reserve,  though  never  so  slightly  covered !  No,  sir ; 
not  a  tittle  of  it ;  modesty  is  the  virtue  of  a  poor-souled 
country  gentlewoman  ;  she  is  too  much  a  court  lady  to  be 
under  so  vulgar  a  confusion  ;  she  reads  the  letter,  therefore, 
with  a  careless,  dropping  lip,  and  an  erected  brow,  humming 
it  hastily  over,  as  if  she  were  impatient  to  outgo  her  father's 
commands,  by  making  a  complete  conquest  of  him  at  once ; 
and  that  the  letter  might  not  embarrass  her  attack,  crack  ! 
she  crumbles  it  at  once  into  her  palm,  and  pours  upon  him 
her  whole  artillery  of  airs,  eyes,  and  motion  ;  down  goes  her 
dainty,  diving  body  to  the  ground,  as  if  she  were  sinking 
under  the  conscious  load  of  her  own  attractions ;  then  launches 
Into  a  flood  of  fine  language  and  compliment,  still  playing  her 


450  NOTES 

chest  forward  in  fifty  falls  and  risings,  like  a  swan  upon 
waving  water;  and,  to  complete  her  impatience,  she  is  so 
rapidly  fond  of  her  own  wit,  that  she  will  not  give  her  lover 
leave  to  praise  it :  silent  assenting  bows,  and  vain  endeavors 
■  to  speak,  are  all  the  share  of  the  conversation  he  is  admitted 

to,  which,   at   last,   he   is   relieved   from  by  her  engagement  to 
r  half  a  score  visits,  which  she  swims  from  him  to  make,  with 

a  promise  to  return  In  a  twinkling. 

"If  this  sketch  has  color  enough  to  give  you  any  near 
conception  of  her,  I  then  need  only  tell  you,  that  throughout 
the  whole  character,  her  variety  of  humor  was  every  way 
proportionable ;  as,  indeed,  in  most  parts  that  she  thought 
worth  her  care,  or  that  had  the  least  matter  for  her  fancy 
to  work  upon,  I  may  justly  say  that  no  actress,  from  her 
own  conception,  could  have  heightened  them  with  more  lively 
strokes    of    nature." 

Apology,  ed.  4,  London,  1756,  i.  124-126. 
Gibber's  description  of  Mrs.  Mountfort  in  another  character 
is  also  of  interest  to  students  of  Dryden : 

"Nor  was  her  humor  limited  to  her  sex ;  for,  while  her 
shape  permitted,  she  was  a  more  adroit  pretty  fellow  than  is 
usually  seen  upon  the  stage.  Her  easy  air,  action,  mien,  and 
gesture  quite  changed  from  the  quoif  to  the  cocked  hat  and 
cavalier  in  fashion.  People  were  so  fond  of  seeing  her  a 
man,  that  when  the  part  of  Bayes  in  The  Rehearsal  had  for 
some  time  lain  dormant,  she  was  desired  to  take  it  up,  which 
I  have  seen  her  act  with  all  the  true,  coxcombly  spirit  and 
humor  that  the  sufficiency  of  the  character  required."  (Ibid., 
p.  124.) 

166,  42,  44.    Monde.    QqF  read  mond.    It  is  hard  to  decide  how  far  the  spell- 

ing of  Melantha's  French  words  in  the  original  editions  should 
be  corrected  by  modern  standards.  In  some  cases  (as  169, 
188;  200,  120)  it  seems  to  indicate  her  imperfect  or  affected 
pronunciation. 

167,  82.     French    gibberish.      "French    gibberish,    compounded    of    English, 

Latin,    and    French,    kept   its   place    in    English   law,   especially 

in    reports,    till    the    beginning    of    the    eighteenth    century." 

[Saintsbury.] 
168    115.     Numerical.     In  the  sense  of  identical,  as  often  at  this  time. 
169.'  188.     In  suitte.     The  reading  of  QqF  may  be  a   misprint,   but  is   more 

likely  an   indication   of  Melantha's   imperfect   pronunciation   of 

French. 

174,  402.     Faint  and  dimly.     "Very   often,    when    two   or   more    adverbs   are 

placed  together,  the  adverbial  termination  ly  is  only  appended 
to   the   last."      Schmidt,   Shakespeare-Lexicon,   1875,    p.    1419. 

175,  413.     Still.     Always. 

178,  51,  52.     Holiday.     As    the    holy-day  of   the   early   editions   shows,    the 

composition  of  this  word  was  more  obvious  in  Dryden's  time 
than  at  present. 
57.     The  banes  of  matrimony.     Doubtless  used  with  a.  punning  inten- 
tion, as  Saintsbury  suggests. 

179,  130.     After  the  pangs,  etc.     A  song  by  Dryden  himself,  in  An  Evening's 

Lore,  a  play  acted  in   1668,  four  years  before  Marriage  a  la 
Mode.     v.  Ss.  iii.  290. 
181,  213.     Mere.     Absolute. 


NOTES  451 

186,  391.     Sure  you,  etc.     This  high-flying  loyalty  is  probably  not  meant  to 
be  wholly   ridiculous. 
394.     /  ttever,  etc.     Cf.  The  Rehearsal,  407,  89-94. 
187, 443.     Mcthdnka,   etc.      Here   we    have    Almanzor's    spirit    "transprosed" 
Into  blank  verse. 
7.     To  think.     As  to  think. 
190  120.     Apparence.     Not  a  misprint,  but  a  token  of  Melantha's  Frenchified 
pronunciation. 
124.     ti'  oicn.     The  form   may   have  arisen  from  an   incorrect  division 
of  mine  own;  or  the  n  may  be  a  jocose,  baby-talk  prefix.     In 
either  case,  compare  nuncle,  Noll,  Melly. 

103,  129.     Antique  hahits.     The  words  antique  and  antic,  were  confused  in 

Dryden's  time,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  meaning  is  in- 
tended   in    this    place. 

132.     Vizor-mask.     v.  n.  72,  13. 

137.  In  masquerade  there  is  nothing  to  be  known.  "The  domino 
being  a  complete  disguise.  '     Saintsbdry. 

104,  142.      What  make  you  here?    What  are  you  doing  hereV     Cf.  337,  120,  n. 
145.     Want.     In  the  sense  of  laek;  cf.  273,  444,  n;  288,  542. 

176.     Resty.     In  the  sense  of  sluygish,  not  restive  in  our  usual   sense. 
Shakspere  has  "resty  sloth"  (Cymhcline,  III.  vl.  34). 
106.  Song.     This    song    is    printed    also    in    Coient    Garden   Drollery, 

1072;   Aeif   Court   Sonys   and  Poems,   1672;   and    Westminster 
Drollery,   the   Second   Part,   1G72.      Ncs   reads    While   in    1.   46. 
Cgd   and   Wd   read   whilst   in    1.    58.   and   did    (for   died)    in    11. 
64,   65. 
100,  59,  61.     Tell   thee     .     .     .     tell   you.     Palamede   uses    the   familiar   or 
contemptuous   singular   pronoun  ;    Doralice   the   plural.      Below, 
Palamede  changes  his  tone  and  his  pronoun;  cf.  207,  299,  n. 
SJOO,     90.     Barr'd    the    dice.     Declared    the    throw    void.      :Nick,   just    below, 
means  to  win  against  another  player,   in  the  game  of  hazard. 
119,  120.     Vot  valet     .     .     .      Votrd   csclave.     The  spelling   of  the   early 
editions  may  be  meant  to  suggest  the  slovenly  pronunciation  of 
Doralice  and  the  affected  pronunciation  of  Mclantha. 
201,  134.     Thou   hast   tickled  him   with   a   repertee.     Compare  Mr.    Baycs's 
enthusiasm  for  his  own  work  in  The  Rfhearsal,  403,  14-18.    Ss. 
and  M.  correct  repertee  of  the  early  editions  to  repartee. 
136.     You  are,  etc.     A  bit  of  satire  on  the  critics  of  the  heroic  plays. 

Cf.  11,  1-15. 
139.     You  are,  etc.     Dryden  here  makes  Doralice  a  mouthpiece  for  his 
own   critical   opinions.     This   scene   gives   some   notion   of   the 
general  nature  of  literary  argument  in  the  Restoration   period. 
165.     Let  them  take,  etc.     There  is  here  some  resemblance  to  a  scene 
(act    I,    sc.    ill)    in    Dryden's    The    Rival    Ladies    (v.    Ss.    11. 
162,   163). 
179.     Good   Old   Cause.     This,    in   English    political    parlance,   was   the 
cause  of  the  Puritan  or  Commonwealth  party.     Compare : 
The  Good  Old  Cause  reviv'd.  a  plot  requires. 
Plots,  true  or  false,  are  necessary  things. 
To  raise  up  commonwealths,  and  ruin  kings. 

Absalom  and  Achitophcl,  82-84. 
Cf.  n.  250,  452. 
805,  123.     My  reverend  city  friends,  etc.     The  city  of  London  was  the  strong- 
hold of  the  party  opposed  to  King  Charles  II.     The  following 
lines  contain  a  reference  to  the  popular  belief,  sufficiently  well 


462  NOTES 

founded,    that    Charles    II    was    plotting    to    subvert    English 
liberties  l)y  the  aid  of  Louis  XIV. 
5806,     24.     To  have  floicn  her  so  often  to  a  mark.     To  fly  to  a  mark  means 
to  mark  down,  to  observe  the  lighting  place  of  game.     Compare 
in  Dryden's  King  Arthur: 

O,  still  thou  think'st  to  fly  a  fool   to  mark. 

(Ss.  viii.  168.) 
Bohh'd.     Cheated,  fooled. 
S!07,     59.     Here  are  a  list  of  Iter  phrases.     Note  the  plural  form  of  the  verb, 
affected  by  the  plural  phrases. 

208,  133.     He    mocks    himself    of    me.      "Melantha,    like    some    modern    cox- 

combs, uses  the  idiom  as  well  as  the  words  of  the  French 
language."  Scott. 
138.  Ah  qu'il  fait  heau,  etc.  "This  is  a  real  French  song  of  the  period. 
It  is  to  be  found  in  Wckerlin's  Echos  dii  Temps  Passe,  ii.  42. 
It  should  read  :  Cc  beau  scjoitr  nous  invite  a  I'amour.  But 
Dryden  no  doubt  took  it,  as  well  as  Vols  ma  Climene,  from  the 
Bourgeois  Gentilhomme,  V.  vi.  cinqui&me  entree.  Toute  la  terre 
I  have  not  yet  traced."     Saintsbury. 

209,  146.     Humors.     Falls  in  with,  adapts  himself  to. 

5815$,  287.     Bilbo.     Sword,  originally  one  from  Bilbao  in  Spain. 

288.  Dangerfleld.  "A  dramatic  bully,  whose  sword  and  habit  became 
proverbial.  'This  gentleman,  appearing  with  his  mustaccios 
according  to  the  Turkish  manner,  Cordubee  hat,  and  strange 
out-of-the-way  clothes,  just  as  if  one  had  been  dressed  up  to 
act  Captain  Dangerfleld  in  the  play,'  etc.  Life  of  Sir  Dudley 
Korth."  Scott.  The  editor  has  been  unable  to  verify  this 
note. 
308.  //  you  are  tcise,  etc.  Hartmann  remarks  that  this  passage  sug- 
gests similar  expressions  in  Moli^re,  as  the  philosophy  of 
Lisette  in  L'Ecole  des  Maris,  I.  ii.  (Einfluss  Moliere's  auf 
Dryden's  Komisch-Dramatische  Dielitungen.  Leipzig,  1885, 
p.  28.) 
312.  Screw'd  gun.  This  seems  to  mean  a  gun  with  rifled  bore,  though 
the  editor  has  been  unable  to  find  a  similar  use  of  the  words. 

213,  341.  Fall  on,  etc.  The  quotation  is,  of  course,  Macbeth  V.  viii.  33,  34, 
inexactly  reproduced. 

215,  406.  O,  gentlemen,  etc.  This  scene  has  been  regarded  as  the  model  of 
the  deposition  of  the  two  Kings  of  Brentford.  Cf.  The 
Rehearsal,  401,  21-34. 

5B18  -Epilogue.     This   epilogue   is   evidently    spoken   by   Rhodophil.      In 

Cgd  it  is  said  to  be  "by  Mr.  Moon,"  that  is,  Mohun,  who  took 
the  part  of  Rhodophil.  Mohun  was,  next  to  Hart  (v.  n.  153, 
Prologue),  the  leading  tragic  actor  of  the  King's  Company. 
In  The  Conquest  of  Granada  he  played  Abdelmelech. 
20.  /'  th'  Men.  The  Mall  (printed  Mell  in  QqF,  according  to  the 
pronunciation)  is  a  broad  promenade  in  St.  James  Park, 
London.  Cf.  153,  25.  The  passage  is  probably  a  hit  at  some 
contemporary  play. 
32.  The  city.  The  wives  of  the  city  merchants  were  conventionally 
regarded  as  the  lawful  prey  of  men  of  society. 


ALL  FOR  LOVE 

For  general  ioformation  on  All  for  Lore,  see  Introductioyi,  pp.  sliii, 
xlvi-xlix. 

Dryden  aims  his  Latin  motto,  "Easy  Is  it  to  remark  some  glowing  word 
(if  I  may  use  the  expression),  and  to  laugh  at  it  when  the  fires  of  the  mind 
are  quenched."  at  the  same  fastidious  critics  whom  he  attacks  in  his  Preface. 
Here  he  has  omitted  two  unessential  words  of  his  original. 

DEDICATION 

/S/S3.  Thomas,  Earl  of  Danhy,  etc.      "The   person    to   whom   these   high 

titles  now  belonged,  was  Sir  Thomas  Osborne,  a  l)aronet  of 
good  family,  and  decayed  estate  ;  part  of  which  had  been  lost 
in  the  royal  cause.  He  was  of  a  bold,  undaunted  character, 
and  stood  high  for  the  prerogative.  Hence  he  was  thought 
worthy  of  being  sworn  into  the  Privy  Council  during  the 
administration  of  the  famous  Cabal  ;  and  when  that  was  dis- 
solved by  the  secession  of  Shaftesbury  and  the  resignation  of 
Clifford,  he  was  judged  a  proper  person  to  succeed  the  latter  as 
Lord  High  Treasurer.  He  was  created  Earl  of  Danby,  and 
was  supposed  to  be  deeply  engaged  in  the  attempt  to  new- 
model  our  Constitution  on  a  more  arbitrary  plan  ;  having  been 
even  heard  to  say,  when  sitting  in  judgment,  that  a  new 
proclamation  from  the  Crown  was  superior  to  an  old  Act  of 
Parliament. 

"In  December,  1678,  he  was  impeached  by  a  vote  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  in  consoquence,  notwithstanding  the 
countenance  of  the  king,  was  deprived  of  all  his  offices,  and 
finally  committed  to  the  Tower,  where  he  remained  for  more 
than  four  years.  Tie  was  liberated  in  1684,  survived  the  Revo- 
lution, was  created  Duke  of  Leeds,  and  died  in  1712.  His 
character  was  of  the  most  decided  kind  ;  he  was  fertile  in 
expedients,  and  had  always  something  new  to  substitute  for 
those  which  failed  ;  a  faculty  highly  acceptable  to  Charles,  who 
loved  to  be  relieved,  even  were  it  but  in  idea,  from  the  labor  of 
business,  and  the  pressure  of  difficulty."      [Scott.] 

Early  in  1678,  Danby  had  been  party  to  an  arrangement  by 
■which  Charles  II  was  to  receive  sums  of  money  from  Louis  XIV 
as  the  price  of  preventing  a  "war  with  France.  These  negotia- 
tions he  disapproved,  conducting  them  only  by  the  express  order 
of  the  king,  whose  written  approval  appeared  on  the  letters 
brought  up  as  evidence  against  him.  The  House  of  Commons, 
however,  refused  to  admit  that  this  plea  excused  the  minister's 
conduct,  thereby  going  far  towards  establishing  the  principle 
that  no  minister  can  exculpate  himself  by  pleading  obedience  to 
the  commands  of  his  sovereign.  Dryden  apparently  refers  to 
this  transaction  in  a  passage  of  The  t'panish  Friar;  v.  300, 
100-114.  His  language  there,  insinuating  that  Danby  was 
"infamously  base"  in'i)leading  the  royal  sanction  for  his  acts. 
Is  in  disagreeable  contrast  to  his  present  panegyric. 

453 


454  NOTES 

8.  Carmen,  etc.  Claudlan,  xxiii.  6 :  "Everyone  loves  poetry,  who 
does  deeds  worthy  of  poetry." 
324.  17.  TJir  dchts  of  the  exvhcuucr.  Tubllc  credit  hod  boon  sVinken  by 
the  stop  of  payments  in  exchequer  in  1G72,  on  the  recom- 
mendation of  Clifford,  in  order  to  secure  money  for  the  war 
against  Holland.  Danby,  on  the  other  hand,  was,  in  Hume's 
words,  "a  fru2;al  minister,  and  by  his  application  and  industry 
.  .  .  brought  the  revenue  into  tolerable  order." 
!82S,  5.  A  comvionucaUh,  etc.  In  a  note  on  his  translation  of  Persius, 
Dryden  writes :  "Brutus  freed  the  Roman  people  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  Tarquins,  and  chang'd  the  form  of  the  govern- 
ment into  a  glorious  commonwealth"  (Ss.  xiii,  255).  Authors 
of  the  seventeenth  century  found  no  difficulty  in  combining 
enthusiasm  for  republican  Rome  with  a  practical  loyalty  to 
monarchical  institutions. 

31.     Felices,  etc.     "O  English,  too  happy,  if  they  but  knew  their  own 

blessings."     The  phrase  is  adapted  from  Virgil's,  O  fortunatos 

nimium,  sua  si  bona  noiint,  Agricolas!  (Georgics,  ii.  458,  459). 

!3$S6,       2.     lie  u-Jio  has  often  chang'd,  etc.     This  sentence  may  be  aimed  at 

Shaftesbury. 

35.  The  Earl  of  Lindsey.  "The  Earl  of  Lindsey  was  general  in  chief 
for  King  Charles  I  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Civil  War.  As 
an  evil  omen  of  the  royal  cause,  he  was  mortally  wounded  and 
made  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Edgehill,  the  very  first  which 
was  fought  betwixt  the  king  and  parliament.  His  son  Mon- 
tague Bertie,  Earl  of  Lindsey,  was  a  sufferer  in  the  same 
cause.  The  Earl  of  Danby  was  married  to  the  Lady  Bridget, 
the  second  daughter  of  that  nobleman."     [Scott.] 

Danby  was  once  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  his  distant 
cousin,  Dorothy  Osborne,  who  rejected  him,  and  later  married 
Sir  William  Temple.  A  passage  from  one  of  her  letters  to 
Temple  is  of  interest  in  this  connection  : 

"I  was  told  by  one  (who  pretends  to  know  him  very  well) 
that  nothing  tempted  my  cousin  Osborne  to  marry  his  lady 
(so  much)  as  that  she  was  an  carl's  daughter;  which  me- 
thought  was  the  prettiest  fancy,  and  had  the  least  of  sense  in 
it,  of  any  I  had  heard  on,  considering  that  it  was  no  addition 
to  her  person,  that  he  had  honour  enough  before  for  his  for- 
tune, and  how  little  it  is  in  this  age, — if  it  be  anything  in  a 
better, — which  for  my  part  I  am  not  well  satisfied  in."  Let- 
ters from  Dorothy  Osborne  to  Sir  William  Temple,  cd  Parry, 
London,  1888,  p.  127. 
5820,  8.  All  reasonable  men,  etc.  This  doctrine  goes  back  to  Aristotle. 
Poetics,  xiii. 

17.  Necessity,  or  fatal  ignorance.  This  doctrine  is  continually 
implied,  though  not  expressly  mentioned,  by  Rymer,  whom 
Dryden  probably  had  in  mind  when  he  wrote  this  passage, 
though  there  is  no  verbal  correspondence  between  the  two 
authors.  Cf.  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age,  1692,  p.  21.  On 
Dryden's  relations  with  Rymer,  see  Introduction,  pp.  xliii-xlvi. 

33.     Machine.     A  contrivance  for  the  sake  of  effect  in  a  play  or  other 
literary  work. 
S830,     12.     'Tis  true,  some  actions,  etc.     Cf.  Rymer,  op.  cit.,  p.  65. 

20.     Honest  Montaigne,  etc.     Essais,  1.  ii,  c.  17,  De  la  Presumption. 

31.     Yet,  in  this  nicety  of  manners,  etc.     Cf.  12,  18-30. 


NOTES  455 

44.     Their  Hippolytus,  etc.     The  reference  is  to  the  PMdre  of  Racine, 
which  had  appeared  in  1677. 

231,  13.     The  Hippolytus   of  Euripides.      Euripides's  Hippolytus  is  one  of 

Rymer's  stock  illustrations  of  ancient  tragedy. 
14.  Chedreux  critics.  "Chedrcux  was  the  name  of  the  fashionable 
periwigs  of  the  day,  and  appears  to  have  been  derived  from 
their  maker.  A  French  pemiquier,  in  one  of  Shadwell's 
comedies,  says :  'You  talke  o'  de  Chedreux  ;  he  is  no  bodee  to 
mee.  Dere  is  no  man  can  travallle  vid  mee  ...  If  dat  foole 
Chedreux  make  de  peruke  like  mee,  I  vil  be  hanga'  (Bury  Fair, 
1.11)."     [Scott.] 

Professor  Ker  refers  to  a  passage  in  Etherege  : 

Emilia.     He   [Sir  Fopling]   wears  nothing  but  what  are 
originals  of  the  most  famous  hands  in  Paris. 
Sir  Foplinfj.     You  are  in  the  right,  madam. 
Lady   Townley.     The  suit? 
Sir  Fopling.     Barroy. 

•  *■••• 

Dorimant.     The  periwig? 
Sir  Fopling.     Barroy. 

The  Man  of  Mode,  III.  11. 
30.  But,  if  I  come  closer,  etc.  In  the  passage  that  follows  Dryden 
attacks  his  former  patron.  Lord  Rochester,  to  whom  he  had 
dedicated  Marriage  a  la  Mode,  but  who  had  later  ridiculed 
him  in  his  Trial  of  the  Poets  for  the  Bays  and  his  Allusion  to 
the  Tenth  Hatire  of  the  First  Book  of  Horace.  These  poems 
may  be  found  in  Anderson's  British  Poets,  vi.  410,  415.  Cf. 
Introduction,  p.  xxxv,  n.  3  and  n.  14J>  (Rochester). 
46.     Fly  abroad.     Rochester's  poems  were  circulated  in  manuscript. 

232.  3.     Rarus   enim,   etc.       Juvenal,   vlii.    73,    74  :     "For   a    sense   of   pro- 

priety   [or   Dryden    might    prefer   to   say,    'common    sense']    is 
rather  infrequent  in  that  station  of  life." 
17.     Horace,  etc.     v.  Satires,  I.   i.  1-3. 

42.  They  had  wit  enough,  etc.  Compare  Bacon,  Apothegms,  no.  160: 
"There  was  a  philosopher  that  disputed  with  Adrian  the 
Emperor,  and  did  it  but  weakly.  One  of  his  friends  that  had 
been  by,  afterwards  said  to  him  :  'Methinks  you  were  not  like 
yourself,  last  day,  in  argument  with  the  emperor ;  I  could 
have  answered  better  myself.'  'Why,'  said  the  philosopher, 
'would  you  have  me  contend  with  him  that  commands  thirty 
legions?'  "  Works,  ed.  Spedding,  Boston,  1860,  xiil.  361. 
5433,        1.      That  grinning  honor.     Cf.  152,  18,  n. 

23.     Demetri,  etc.     Horace,  Satires,  I.  x.  1)0,  91  :    "You,  Demetrius  and 
Tigellius,   I   bid  go   weep   amidst   the   chairs  of  your   pupils." 
The  lines  are  from  the  very  satire  of  which  Rochester  made  a 
"vile  imitation." 
29.     Saxum,  etc.     Virgil,  .^neid,  xii.  897,  898.    Dryden's  translation  is: 
An  antique  stone  he  saw,  the  common  bound 
Of  neighb'ring  fields,  and  barrier  of  the  ground. 
34.     Genua,  etc.    IMd.,  905-907.     Dryden  translates: 

His  knocking  knees  are  l)ent  beneath  the  load, 
And  shiv'ring  cold  congeals  his  vital  blood. 
The  stone  drops  from  his  arras,  and.  falling  short 
For  want  of  vigor,  mocks  his  vain  effort. 
39.      Stvrnhold.     The  old  version  of  the  Psalms  by  Sternhold,  Hopkins, 


456  NOTES 

and   others    (first   published   complete    in    1562),    is   elsewhere 
ridiculed  by  Dryden  : 

This  unpolish'd,  rugged  verse,  I  chose. 
As  fittest  for  discourse,  and  nearest  prose ; 
For  while  from  sacred  truth  I  do  not  swerve, 
Tom  Sternhold's,  or  Tom  Shadwell's  rimes  will  serve. 

Reliyio  Laid,  453-456. 
Poor  slaves  in  meter,  dull  and  addle-pated. 
Who  rime  below  ev'n  David's  Psalms  translated. 
Ahsalom  and  Achitophel,  Part  II,  402,  403. 
a34,        1.     The  scandal  of  his  nomination.     Rochester's  Allusion  concludes : 
I  loathe  the  rabble  ;  'tis  enough  for  me 
If  Sedley,  Shadwell,  Shephard,  Wycherley, 
Godolphin,  Butler,  Buckhurst,  Buckingham,        ^ 
And  some  few  moi-e,  whom  I  omit  to  name,         L 
Approve  my  sense  :    I  count  their  censure  fame  I 
9.     Tellem,  etc.      Horace,   Satires,   I.   iii.   41,  42  :      "Would  to   heaven 
we  could  make  the  like  mistakes  in  friendship,   and  that  sujh 
errors  had  a  fair  name  given  them  by  right  feeling"   (Lonsdale 
and  Lee's  translation). 
13.     Canibus,   etc.      Juvenal,    viii.    34-37  :      "Lazy    curs,    hairless   from 
inveterate  mange,   and  licking  the  edges  of  a   dry   lamp,   have 
for  names,   'Panther,'   'Tiger,'   'Lion,' — or  if  there  be   anything 
else  which  roars  with  greater  fury  in  the  world"  (J.  D.  Lewis's 
translation).     Dryden  probably  refers  to  Rochester's  lines  in  his 
Allusion: 

Of  all  our  modern  wits,  none  seem  to  me  ~) 
Once  to  have  touch'd  upon  true  comedy,     y 
But  hasty  Shadwell  and  slow  Wycherley.   J 
Of  Dryden  himself  Rochester  wrote  in  the  same  piece  : 
Five  hundred  verses  every  morning  writ 
Prove  him  no  more  a  poet  than  a  wit. 
19.     Nigra,  etc.     Lucretius,   iv.    1160,   1164.      Dryden's   translation    is ; 
The  sallow  skin  is  for  the  swarthy  put, 
And  love  can  make  a  slattern  of  a  slut. 
She  stammers  :    O,  what  grace  in  lisping  lies  ! 
If  she  says  nothing,  to  be  sure  she's  wise. 
21.     Ad  ^thiopem  cijgnum.     Juvenal,  viii.  33.     This   (without  the  ad) 
comes  just  before  the  passage  previously  quoted  from  Juvenal. 
The  satirist  exclaims :    "We  call  an  Ethiopian  a  swan  !" 
29.     Vos  exemplaria  Qrwca,  etc.     Ars  Poet.    268,   269  :      "But  do  you, 
my  friends,  study  diligently  night  and  day  the  Greek  models" 
(Lonsdale  and  Lee's  translation). 
33.     Oedipus  Tyrannus.     Dryden  wrote  his  own  CEdipus,  in  partnership 
with  Lee,  in  this  same  year,  1678.     The   English   authors,  fol- 
lowing the  example  of  Corneille,   made  their  play  of  "a  larger 
compass"  than  "the  masterpiece  of  Sophocles"  by  the  addition 
of    an    underplot    in    which    love    is    the    central    interest.      v. 
Introduction,  pp.  xlix,  1. 
46.     The  difference  of  styles,  etc.     This   subject  Dryden   later  treated 
in  his  essay  On  the  Grounds  of  Criticism  in  Tragedy,  inserted 
in  his  preface  to  Troilus  and  Cressida   (1679). 
5837,     11.     Bates  of  his  mettle,  etc.     Cf.  Introduction,  p.  xlvii. 

15.     Tonies.     Tony  was  a  cant  term  for  simpleton,  as  well  as  a  con- 
traction  for  Antony.      Hence   Goldsmith's  choice  of  the  name 


NOTES  457 

Tony  Lumpkin   for    the   familiar   character   in   She   Stoops   to 
Conquer. 
29.     Half-wits,  etc.     Cf.  231,  30f. 
240,     52.      Who  can  most.     The  absolute  use  of  can  is  probably  an  affecta- 
tion of  archaism  on  Dryden's  part,  though  the  editor  has  not 
been  able  to  find  any  exact  Elizabethan  parallel.     But  compare  : 
Thou  little  wotest  what  this  right  hand  can. 

SrE.\.SEU,  Faerie  Quceiic,  II.  iii.  16. 
On    archaisms    in    this   play,    cf.    248,    354,    n ;     250,    442,    n  ; 
284,  387,  n. 
X43,  160.     His  better  influence.     Influence  is  here  used  in  the  sense  usual  in 
Shakspere  :    "the   power  exerted  by   celestial   bodies   on    terres- 
trial or  other  celestial  bodies"   (Schmidt).     Compare: 
Reason  thus  with  life  : 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep  :    a  breath  thou  art, 
Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences. 

Measure  for  Measure,  III.  i.  6-9. 
5244,  225.     The  crocodile  icill  weep.     v.  n.  86,  18. 

5846,  267.     The  big  round  drops,  etc.     Compare  : 

The  big  round  tears 
Cours"d  one  another  down  his  Innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase. 

As  You  Like  It,  II.  i.  38-40. 

5847,  'MO.     Marches.     Boundaries. 

5848,  354.      Us'd.     Accustomed.     Archaisms  are  very  frequent   in   this  drama  ; 

cf.  240,  52,  n  ;    250,  442,  n  ;    284,  387,  n. 
381.     O   tltat,  etc.     Drydcn  here  attributes  to  Antony,  as  he  had  to  his 
Moorish  heroes,  the  ideas  of  honor  prevalent  in   his  own  day. 

5849,  410.     For  ostentation  sake.     Cf.  22,  234,  n. 

5850,  437.     You  speak,  etc.      Pope   may   have   remembered   this   line   when   he 

wrote  in  his  translation  of  the  Iliad  (iii.  208)   the  line: 
She  moves  a  goddess,  and  she  looks  a  queen. 
442.     Steepy.     This  word,  which  occurs  twice  in  Shakspere,  is  probably 
a    conscious    archai.sm    with    Dryden  ;    cf.    240,    52,    n  ;     248, 
354,  n  ;    284,  387,  n. 

451.  May  taste  fate  to  'em.    "Act  as  their  tasters  in  fortune."     Saints- 

bury. 

452.  And,  cnfring,  etc.     The  rimed  couplet  at  the  close  of  the  scene  is 

in  imitation  of  the  Elizabethan  fashion.  Cf.  201,  178, 
179 ;  2«2,  459,  460 ;  274,  483,  484  ;  289,  596,  597  ;  302, 
518,  519  ;  326,  456,  457  ;  332,  153,  154  ;  etc. 

5851,  26.     And   bears    a    tender   heart.      Compare :     "He    bears    too    great    a 

mind"   (Julius  Cwsar,  V.  i.  113). 

5853.  89.     Fearful.     Cf.  109,  31    (stage  direction),  n. 

5854,  139.     /    bore    this    wren.      In    the    Kinder-    und    Hausmarehen    of    the 

l)rothors  Grimm,  no.  171,  is  found  the  story  of  how  the  wren 
outwitted  the  eagle.  The  birds  agreed  to  choose  as  their  king 
the  one  who  should  fly  the  highest.  The  eagle  flew  almost  to 
heaven,  and  was  proclaimed  king  by  the  birds  beneath.  Then 
the  wren  came  out  of  the  breast  feathers  of  the  eagle,  where 
it  had  been  concealed,  and.  not  being  tired,  flew  to  heaven 
itself  and  claimed  the  victory.  This  story  is  first  found  entire 
in  a  collection  of  beast  fables  that  the  Rabbi  Baradji  (or 
Barachja)    Nikdani    (or   Ilannakdan)    composed   in    the    Hebrew 


458  NOTES 

languago  during  the  second  half  of  the  thirteenth  centary. 
The  rabbi's  book  was  first  printed  at  Mantua  in  1557,  and  in 
1661  was  republished  at  Prague,  together  with  a  Latin  trans- 
lation by  the  Jesuit  Melchior  Ilanel.  It  seems  unliljely,  how- 
ever, that  Dryden  knew  Ilanel's  work;  he  probably  borrowed 
from  oral  folklore,  or  from  some  Intermediate  literary  source. 
He  makes  a  like  reference  in  The  Conquest  of  Oranada, 
130,   126. 

Apparently  a  similar  fable  was  known  in  classical  antiquity. 
Aristotle  writes :  "The  wren  ...  is  a  good  provider  and 
cunning,  and  is  called  eUer  and  Icing;  wherefore  they  say 
even  the  eagle  makes  war  on  it"  {Historia  Animalium,  ix. 
11,5).  And  Pliny  states :  "Dissident  .  .  .  aquila;  et  trochi- 
lus,  si  credimus,  quoniam  rex  appellatur  avium"  (Hist.  Nat., 
X.  74). 

For   this   note   the   editor   is    indebted    to    the   kindness   of 
Professor  J.  A.  Walz  of  Harvard  University. 
161.     Crocodile.     Cf.  86,  18,  n. 

164.     Too  presuming,  etc.     This  line  is  unmetrical.     It  might  have  been 
better  to  print  the  first  two  words  as  an  hemistich. 
>860,  401.     /  have  refus'd  a  kingdom.     Contrast  with  this  the  faithlessness 
of  Shakspere's  Cleopatra  : 

Cleo.     Most  kind  messenger, 
Say  to  great  Caesar  this  :    in  deputation 
I  kiss  his  conqu'ring  hand.     Tell  him,  I  am  prompt 
To  lay  my  crown  at  's  feet,  an'd  there  to  kneel. 
Tell  him,  from  his  all-obeying  breath  I  hear 
The  doom  of  Egypt. 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  III.  siii.  73-78. 
26a,     17.     Like  Vulcan.     The  reference  is,  of  course,  to  the  familiar  story  in 

Odyssey,  vlii.  266-.366. 
a63,     24.     There's   no    satiety,   etc.      There    is    an    obvious    reminiscence    of 
Shakspere : 

Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  variety.     Other  women  cloy 
The  appetites  they  feed,  but  she  makes  hungry 
Where  most  she  satisfies,  for  vilest  things 
Become  themselves  in  her,  that  the  holy  priests 
Bless  her  when  she  is  rlggish. 

lUd.  11.  li.  240-245. 
J866,  144.     Menial  kings,  etc. 

"Ant.  Approach  there  !  Ah,  you  kite  !  Now,  gods  and  devils  ! 
Authority  melts  from  me.     Of  late,  when  I  cried  'Ho!' 
Like  boys  unto  a  muss,  kings  would  start  forth. 
And  cry  'Your  will?'     Have  you  no  ears?     I  am 
Antony  yet. 

Ihid.  III.  xiii.  89-93. 
"The  same  idea  which  bursts  from  Shakspere's  Antony  in 
a  transport  of  passion,  is  used  by  Dryden's  hero.  The  one  is 
goaded  by  the  painful  feeling  of  lost  power;  to  the  other, 
absorbed  in  his  sentimental  distresses,  it  only  occurs  as  a  sub- 
ject of  melancholy,  but  not  of  agitating  reflection."  Scott. 
168.  She  lay,  etc.  Here  Dryden  comes  into  direct  rivalry  with  Shak- 
spere : 


NOTES  459 

Enobarbus.    The  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  burnish'd  throne, 
Burn'd  on  the  water.    The  poop  was  beaten  gold  ; 
Purpie  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed  that 

The  winds  were  love-sick  with  them.     The  oars  were  silver. 
Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 
The  water  which  they  beat  to  follow  faster. 
As  amorous  of  their  strokes.     For  her  own  person, 
It  beggar'd  all  description  :    she  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion — cloth-of-gold  of  tissue — 
O'er-picturing  that  Venus  where  we  see 
The  fancy  outwork  nature.     On  each  side  her 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  divers-color'd  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool, 
And  what  they  undid  did. 

Ayiippa.  O,  rare  for  Antony  ! 

Enobarbus.     Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides, 
So  many  mermaids,  tended  her  i'  the  eyes. 
And  made  their  bends  adornings.     At  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers ;    the  silken  tackle 
Swell  with  the  touches  of  those  flower-soft  hands. 
That  yarely  frame  the  office.     From  the  barge 
A  strange  invisible  perfume  hits  the  sense 
Of  the  adjacent  wharfs.     The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her  ;    and  Antony, 
Enthron'd  i'  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone. 
Whistling  to  the  air,  which,  but  for  vacancy. 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too. 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature. 

Ibid.  II.  li.  196-223. 
Scott's  judgment  on  these  two  passages  is  interesting  as 
coming  from  a  time  when  Dryden,  though  not  a  model  for  the 
younger  generation  of  poets,  was  still  for  conservative  critics 
the  third  name  In  English  literature.  To-day  few  writers 
would  agree  with  Scott  and  still  fewer  dare  to  express  their 
agreement. 

"In  judging  betwixt  these  celebrated  passages,  we  feel 
almost  afraid  to  avow  a  preference  of  Dryden,  founded  partly 
upon  the  easy  flow  of  the  verse,  which  seems  to  soften  with 
the  suliject,  but  chiefly  upon  the  beauty  of  the  language  and 
imagery,  which  is  flowery  without  diflfusiveness,  and  rapturous 
without  hyperbole.  I  fear  Shakspere  cannot  be  exculpated 
from  the  latter  fault ;  yet  I  am  sensible,  it  is  by  sifting  his 
beauties  from  his  conceits  that  his  imitator  has  been  enabled 
to  excel  him."  (Ss.  v.  312,  313.) 
)S67,  209.  \yhile  I  near  this.  Antony  here  points  to  his  head.  There  Is 
probably  a  reminiscence  of  Shakspere : 

Polonius.     Take  this  from  this,  if  this  be  otherwise. 

Ilamlct,  II.  ii.   156. 

5C70,   317.     And  you  do  all  for  duty.     Here  the  tradition  of  the  heroic  plays 

is  especially  plain.     Duty,  as  distinguished  from  honor,  Antony 

hates ;    he  will  be  bound  only  by  love. 

27)4,   301.      Mho  knows  no  joys.     The  text  of  the  first  two  quartos  is  probably 

correct.      Similar  constructions  are  common  in  Shakspere ;    as, 


460  NOTES 

"To  make  me  proud   that  jests"    (Love's  Labor's  Lost,  V.  li. 
66).     See  Abbott.  Sliakcapeariati  Grammar,  §  247. 
«78,  444.     Want.    Used  here,  as  often  in  Shakspere,  in  the  sense  of  lack. 
X76,     69.     That  porc'pisce  bodes  HI  weather.       Porc'pisce  is  a  variant   form 
of  porpoise  (porous  piscia).     According  to  a  common  supersti- 
tion, the  porpoise  "bodes  ill  weather." 

"When  porpoises  and  whales  spout  about  ships  at  sea, 
storms  may  be  expected. — Porpoises  in  harbour  indicate  coming 
storm. — When  porpoises  swim  to  windward,  foul  weather  will 
ensue  within  twelve  hours. — Dolphins,  as  well  as  porpoises, 
when  they  come  about  a  ship  and  sport  and  gambol  on  the 
surface  of  the  water,  betoken  a  storm  :  hence  they  are  regarded 
as  unlucky  omens  by  sailors."  R.  Inwards,  Weather  Lore, 
ed.  3,  London,  1898,  p.  171. 

Professor  Saintsbury  in  his  note  on  this  passage  misinter- 
prets porc'pisce  as  porcupine,  an  animal  that  does  not  seem 
to  be  connected  with  foul  weather.  (Aside  from  this,  the  fat 
Alexas  may  be  appropriately  called  a  porpoise,  but  his  resem- 
blance to  a  porcupine  is  hard  to  trace.)  His  reference  to 
Gubernatis  (Zoological  Mythology,  ii,  12,  13)  is  misleading. 
Gubernatis  merely  states,  without  citing  authority,  that  the 
hedgehog  presages  wind  and  rain ;  and  gives  a  reference  to 
Altrovandi,  to  show  that  dreaming  of  a  icild  boar  is  an  omen 
of  tempest. 

For    this    note    the    editor    is    again    indebted    to    Professor 
J.  A.  Walz  of  Harvard  University. 
$S79,  1G8.     Commerce.     The  accent  falls  on   the  second   syllable,  as  in  both 

instances  of  the  word  in  verse  in  Shakspere. 
S£80,  210.     Like  one,  etc.     The  word  like  is  here  apparently  used  in  the  sense 
of  as.     This   idiom,   though   now   regarded  as  a  vulgarism,   is 
found  elsewhere  in  Dryden  (Astrwa  Redux,  1.  211),  and  Is  also 
supported  by  the  authority  of  some  good  writers  both  before 
and  after  his  time. 
238.     Then  she's  so  charming,  etc.     Again  a  reminiscence  of  Shakspere. 
Cf.  n.  203,  24. 
iSSl,  258.     Vent.    Now,  my  lord,  etc.     Ventidius  in  this  scene  seems  to  aban- 
don his  part  of  straightforward  soldier  and  to  acquire  something 
of  lago's  craft. 
itHfi,  299.     Every  7nan's  Cleopatra.     "Imitated,  or  rather  copied,  from  Shak- 
spere : 

Don  John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you ;  and,  circum- 
stances short'ned,  for  she  has  been  too  long  a-talking  of, 
the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claudio.     Who?    Hero? 

Don  John.  Even  she;  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero, 
every  man's  Hero. 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  III.  ii.  105-110."     Scott. 
J884,  387.     Much.     This  adverbial  use  of  the  word  is  an  archaism  on  Dry- 
den's  part ;    cf.  240,  52,  n  ;    248,  354,  n ;    250,  442,  n. 
J687,  491.     Secure  of  injured  faith.     The  meaning  is,  of  course,   "safe  from 
any  breach  of  confidence."     Compare  : 

Secure  of  thunder's  crack  or  lightning  flash. 

Titus   Andronicus,   II.   1.   3. 
5888,  530.     Avoid  my  sight!     Leave  my  sight.     Compare:    "Pray  you,  avoid 
the  house"  (Coriolanus,  IV.  v.  25). 


NOTES  461 

532.     And  cannot  hurt  the  icoman.     Cf.  139,  32,  d. 
542.      ^yant.     Cf.  273,  444,  n. 
289,   564.     Spurn.     I'robably  here  used  In  the  literal  sense  of  kick.   Compare : 

the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthj'  takes. 

Hamlet,  III.  i.  73,  74. 
S69i,     71.     Eyypt  has  been.     A  Latinism ;    compare : 

Fuimus  Troes,  fuit  Ilium  et  ingens 
Gloria  Teucrorum. 

JEneid,  ii.  325,  32(5. 
29ifi,  96.  This  needed  not.  This  was  not  necessary.  Probably  felt  by 
Dryden  as  an  archaism.  Compare :  "There  needs  no  such 
apology"  (Richard  III,  III.  vii.  104). 
J893,  154.  He  teas  a  bastard  of  the  sun,  etc.  The  Idea  may  be  explained  by 
a  passage  (11.  565-572)  of  Dryden's  translation  of  the  first 
book  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses: 

Thus  when  the  Nile  from  Pharian  fields  is  fled. 
And  seeks,  with  ebbing  tides,  his  ancient  bed. 
The  fat  manure  with  heav'nly  fire  is  warm'd ; 
And  crusted  creatures,  as  in  wombs,  are  form'd  : 
These,  when  they  turn  the  glebe,  the  peasants  find ; 
Some  rude,  and  yet  unfinish'd  in  their  kind  ; 
Short  of  their  limbs,  a  lame  imperfect  birth  ; 
One  half  alive,  and  one  of  lifeless  earth. 
155.      Ap'd  into  wan.     The   phrase  apparently  means,   "transform'd  into 
an  apish  resemblance  of  man."     But  no  similar  use  of  ape  is 
recorded  in  N.  E.  D. 
295,  223.     Her  unchang'd  face.     The  adjective  is  here  accented  on  the  nega- 
tive prefix.     Cf.  345,  26. 
297,  299.     Ventidiiis,  you  must  live.     The  use  of  pronouns  in   the  following 
passage  is  worthy  of  study.     Ventidius  always  uses  the  respect- 
ful   and    formal    you.      Antony    uses    first    you    and    then    the 
familiar  and  affectionate   thou.     Cf.  199,  59,  n  ;  341,   120,  n  ; 
390,   52,   n. 
898,  353.     That  I  play'd  booty   with    my  life!      To   play  booty  is  "to  allow 
one's   adversary    to   win    at   cards   at  first,    in   order   to    induce 
him     to     continue     playing     and     victimize     him     afterwards" 
(Webster's    International    Dictionary).      Antony's    meaning    is 
that  Caesar  will  suspect  him  of  a  sham  attempt  at  suicide,  in 
order  to  win  compassion  from  the  conqueror. 
361.     Sold    quickly,    etc.      In    this    verse    the    pause    between    the    two 
speakers    supplies    the    place    of    an    unaccented    syllable.      In 
Shakspere  an  accented  syllable,  or  even  a  whole  foot,  is  some- 
times omitted  in  the  same  manner  ;    see  Abbott,   Shakspearian 
Grammar,  §  506.     Cf.  37T,  205,  n. 
299,  387,  388.    But  yrieve  not,   while  thou  stuy'st.  My  last  disastrous  times. 
Retaining    the    punctuation    of    the    early    editions,    stay   might 
be  taken  as  meaning   wait  for,  but  this  hardly  suits  the  con- 
text.    It  seems  easier  to  follow  SsM  and  make  times  the  object 
of   yrieve,    which    is    used    in    the    rather    uncommon    sense    of 
yriere  for;    and   to   interpret  stay  as   tarry,  linger.     Compare, 
in   Dryden's  Aureny-Zebc,    " 'Tis  little   to  confess,  your   fate   I 
grieve"  (Ss.  v.  258). 
S9)S,  505.     Hhe  has  done  well.     Dryden,  by  a  fine  stroke  of  art.   makes  even 
the  coward  Alexas  pay  trilmte  to  Cleopatra's  nobility  of  soul. 


462  NOTES 

303,      17.      Mr.   Hayes,     v.  404,  405,  86-93. 

10.     irn'f  of  ease.     N.  E.  D.  defines  this  as  "a  certificate  of  discharge 

from  cmpjoymcnt."     Dryden  writes  similarly  in  the  epilogue  to 

The  Wild  Gallant  (revived)  : 

Things  well  considered,  'tis  so  hard  to  make 
A  comedy  which  should  the  knowing  take, 
That  our  dull  poet,   in  despair  to  please, 
Does  humbly  beg,  by  me,  his  writ  of  case. 

And  in  the  first  prologue  to  The  Adventures  of  Five  Hours, 

by  Sir  Samuel  Tuke,  are  the  lines  : 

But  if,  through  his  ill  conduct  or  hard  fate. 
This  foreign  plot  (like  that  of  eighty-eight.) 
Should  suffer  shipwreck  in  your  narrow  seas. 
You'll  give  your  modern  poet  his  writ  of  ease  ; 
For,  by  th'  example  of  the  King  of  Spain, 
He  resolves  ne'er  to  trouble  you  again. 

Dodsley's  Old  English  Plays,  ed.  Hazlitt,  xv.  191. 


THE   SPANISH   FEIAR 

The  Spanish  Friar  was  probably  acted  late  in  1680  or  early  in  1G81 ;  it 
was  first  printed  in  the  latter  year,  being  entered  in  the  Term  Catalogue  for 
Trinity  Term.  The  play,  with  its  strongly  anti-Catholic  bias,  indicates  a 
temporary  estrangement  of  the  author  from  the  Court  and  from  the  Duke  of 
York's  party.  In  his  dedication  Dryden  speaks  of  "recommending  a  Protest- 
ant play  to  a  Protestant  patron."  Scott  accounts  for  this  defection  by  sup- 
posing that  Dryden  was  involved  in,  or  at  any  rate  influenced  by,  the  dis- 
grace of  his  patron  Lord  Mulgrave,  to  whom  he  had  dedicated  Aurcny-Zebe. 
(Ss.  i.  195-198;  compare  Introduction,  pp.  xli,  xlii.)  But  Mulgrave  was 
apparently  a  consistent  partisan  of  the  Duke  of  York ;  and  in  November, 
1679,  upon  the  removal  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  (the  rival  of  the  Duke 
of  Y'ork)  from  the  place  of  governor  of  Hull,  was  rewarded  with  the  gift 
of  that  position  (Luttrell,  Brief  Historical  Relation,  Oxford,  1857,  vol.  i,  p. 
27).  Furthermore,  Mulgrave's  disgrace,  which  is  said  to  have  been  caused 
by  pretending  courtship  to  the  Lady  Anne,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  York, 
apparently  did  not  occur  until  November,  1682  (Ibid.  p.  236).  Hence  in 
writing  The  Spanish  Friar  Dryden  was  certainly  not  influenced  by  any  sym- 
pathy with  Mulgrave. 

One  might  even  propose  a  directly  contrary  theory.  Dryden's  reputed 
authorship  of  Mulgrave's  Essay  on  Satire,  which  was  handed  about  in  manu- 
script late  in  1679,  was  the  cause  of  the  Rose-Alley  ambuscade  of  December 
18,  1679,  to  which  he  may  refer  in  the  prologue  to  The  Spanish  Friar: 
V.  312,  43,  44;  n.  149  [Rochester).  This  cowardly  assault  brought  Dryden 
not  sympathy,  but  ridicule.  The  Spanish  Friar,  then,  may  possibly  indicate  the 
poet's  revulsion  of  feeling  against  Mulgrave  and  his  party.  But  probably  this 
supposition  is  too  far-fetched,  and  we  must  be  content  to  ascribe  Dryden's 
anti-Catholic  zeal  to  disgust  at  the  irregular  payment  of  his  pension,  or  to 
accept,  without  deeper  analysis,  the  following  statement  by  Scott,  which 
is  of  course  not  affected  by  the  refutation  of  his  further  supposition,  referred 
to  above  :  "The  truth  seems  to  be  that  Dryden  partook  in  some  degree  of  the 
general  ferment  which  the  discovery  of  the  Popish  Plot  had  excited  ;  and  we 
may   easily   suppose   him    to   have   done   so   without   any   impeachment   to   his 

monarchical    tenets,    since at    the    first    opening    of    the    Plot    the 

chiefs  of  the  royal  party  joined  in  the  cry"   (Ss.  vi.  397). 

At  all  events,  Dryden's  estrangement  from  the  Court,  whether  real  or 
apparent,  was  so  marked  that  he  was  charged  by  a  royalist  pamphleteer  with 
being  an  adherent  of  Shaftesbury  (Ss.  i.  198;  ix.  438,  439;  Christie.  In  Globe 
edition  of  Dryden,  p.  123).  Some  lines  in  the  play  itself,  apparently 
directed  against  the  Whig  mob  of  London  (see  3(>1,  157-169),  indicate  the 
injustice  of  this  accusation.  Only  a  few  months  later  the  poet  triumphantly 
proved  his  loyalty  by  his  great  satire  Absalom  and  Achituphcl,  published  in 
November,   1681. 

The  Spanish  Friar  was  prohibited  by  James  II.  Malone  gives  an  inter- 
esting note  on  a  revival  of  it  after  the  Revolution  : 

"The  Queen was  probably  extremely   fearful  of  any  piece   beln^r 

introduced  on  the  stage  that  might  admit  of  a  political  application  to  her 
own   time,   in  consequence  of   the   distress  she  had  suffered  a  few   years  be- 

463 


464  NOTES 

fore  at  the  rpprescntatlon  of  The  i?panis]i  Friar,  which  she  ordered  to  be 
performed  in  June,  1G8!),  it  being  the  first  play  she  went  to  see.  Of  her 
confusion  and  distress  on  that  occasion  a  particular  account  is  given  in  the 
following  curious  letter,  written  by  Daniel  Finch,  second  Earl  of  Notting- 
ham, which  seems  to  have  been  formerly  in  the  possession  of  Oldys,  and  has 
been  printed  by  Sir  John  Dalrymple,  from  a  copy  furnished  by  Dr.  Percy, 
Lord  Bishop  of  Dromore.     It  does  not  appear  to  whom  the  letter  was  addressed  : 

"  "The  only  day  her  Majesty  gave  herself  the  diversion  of  a  play,  and 
that  on  which  she  designed  to  see  another,  has  furnished  the  town  with 
discourse  for  near  a  month.  The  choice  of  the  play  was  The  Spanish  Friar, 
the  only  play  forbid  by  the  late  K[ing].  Some  unhappy  expressions,  among 
which  those  that  follow,  put  her  in  some  disorder,  and  forced  her  to  hold 
up  her  fan,  and  often  look  behind  her,  and  call  for  her  palatine  and  hood, 
and  anything  she  could  next  thinli  of ;  while  those  who  were  in  the  pit 
before  her  turned  their  heads  over  their  shoulders,  and  all  in  general  directed 
their  looks  towards  her,  whenever  their  fancy  led  them  to  make  any  appli- 
cation of  what  was  said.  In  one  place,  where  the  Queen  of  Aragon  is  going 
to  church  in  procession,  'tis  said  by  a  spectator :  "Very  good ;  she  usurps  the 
throne,  keeps  the  old  king  in  prison,  and  at  the  same  time  is  praying  for  a 
blessing  on  her  army."  [v.  317,  31S,  104,  105.]  And  when  said:  "That  't  is 
observ'd  at  court,  who  weeps,  and  who  wears  black  for  good  King  Sancho's 
death,"  't  is  said:  "Who  is  that,  that  can  flatter  a  court  like  this?  Can  I 
soothe  tyranny?  seem  pleas'd  to  see  my  royal  master  murther'd ;  his  crown 
usurp'd  ;  a  distaff  in  the  throne?"  [v.  357,  6-14.]  And:  "What  title  has  this 
queen,  but  lawless  force?  and  force  must  pull  her  down.  [v.  358,  25,26.]  — 
Twenty  more  things  are  said,  which  may  be  wrested  to  what  they  were 
never  designed :  but,  however,  the  observations  then  made  furnished  the 
town  with  talk,  till  something  else  happened,  which  gave  it  much  occasion 
for  discourse.'  "     {Prose  Works  of  John  Drtjden,  I,  i.  214,  215.) 

Scott  tells  us,  on  the  authority  of  a  contemporary  satire,  The  Revolter 
(1687),  that  the  satire  on  the  Catholic  Church  was  so  severe  in  the  first 
edition  of  The  Spanish  Friar  that  it  had  to  be  mitigated  in  succeeding  edi- 
tions (Ss.  i.  203;  vi.  399).  Collation  of  the  early  copies  proves  this  state- 
ment to  be  baseless ;  in  fact  the  third  and  fourth  editions  contain  passages, 
not  found  earlier,  that  deepen  the  satire  :  see  footnotes  on  332,  4  ;  339,  27. 
Professor  Saintsbury's  interpretation  of  first  edition  as  first  representation 
is  prohibited  by  the  language  of  the  passage  Scott  quotes  from  The  Revolter. 

The  unity  of  place  is  fairly  well  observed  in  The  Spanish  Friar,  since  all 
the  scenes  occur  in  the  one  city  of  Saragossa.  The  unity  of  time  is  not 
so  strictly  regarded  :  a  night  passes  between  act  II  and  act  III,  or  perhaps 
between  the  second  and  third  scenes  of  act  III,  another  between  act  IV  and 
act  V.  The  unity  of  action  is  patently  neglected  in  this  tragi-comedy  :  see 
Introduction,  pp.  xlix-lii. 

The  skilful  combination  of  the  comic  with  the  tragic  plot  of  The  Spanish 
Friar  won  warm  praise  from  critics  of  the  eighteenth  century  school,  notably 
Addison  (Spectator,  No.  267),  Johnson  (Life  of  Dry  den),  and  Scott.  Por- 
tions of  Scott's  introduction  to  the  drama  may  be  quoted  as  illustrating  both 
this  view  of  the  play  and  his  own  courtly  style  of  criticism  : 

"The  Spanish  Friar    is  one  of  the  best  and  most  popular  of  our 

poet's  dramatic  efforts.     The  plot  is,  as  Johnson  remarks,  particularly  happy, 
for  the  coincidence  and  coalition  of  the  tragic  and  comic  plots 

"The   comic   part,    as   it  gives   the    first   title    to   the   play,    seems 

to   claim   our  first  attention.     Indeed,  some  precedence   is   due   to   it  In  an- 
other point  of  view ;  for,   though  the  tragic  scenes  may  be  matched  in  All 


NOTES  465 

for  Love and  elsewhere,  The  Spanish  Friar  contains  by  far  the  most 

happy  of  Dryden's  comic  effusions.  It  has,  comparatively  speaking,  this 
high  claim  to  commendation,  that,  although  the  intrigue  is  licentious,  ac- 
cording to  the  invariable  license  of  the  age,  the  language  is,  in  general,  free 
from  the  extreme  and  disgusting  coarseness  which  our  author  too  fre- 
quently mistook  for  wit,  or  was  contented  to  substitute  in  its  stead.  The 
liveliness  and  even  brilliancy  of  the  dialogue  shows  that  Dryden,  from  the 
stores  of  his  imagination,  could,  when  he  pleased,  command  that  essential 
requisite  of  comedy  ;  and  that,  if  he  has  seldom  succeeded,  it  was  only  be- 
cause he  mistook  the  road,  or  felt  difficulty  in  traveling  it.  The  character  of 
Dominic  is  of  that  broadly  ludicrous  nature  which  was  proper  to  the  old 
comedy.  It  would  be  difficult  to  show  an  ordinary  conception  more  fully 
brought  out.  He  is,  like  Falstaff,  a  compound  of  sensuality  and  talent,  finely 
varied  by  the  professional  traits  with  which  it  suited  the  author's  purpose  to 
adorn  his  character 

"The  tragic  part  of  The  Spanish  Friar  has  uncommon  merit.  The  open- 
ing of  the  drama,  and  the  picture  of  a  besieged  town  in  the  last  extremity, 
is  deeply  impressive,  while  the  description  of  the  noise  of  the  night  attack, 
and  the  gradual  manner  in  which  the  intelligence  of  its  success  is  communi- 
cated, arrests  the  attention,  and  prepares  expectation  for  the  appearance  of 
the  hero,  with  all  the  splendor  which  ought  to  attend  the  principal  char- 
acter in  tragedy.  The  subsequent  progress  of  the  plot  is  liable  to  a  capital 
objection,  from  the  facility  with  which  the  queen,  amiable  and  virtuous,  as 
we  are  bound  to  suppose  her,   consents  to  the  murder  of  the  old   dethroned 

monarch The    gallant,     virtuous,    and    enthusiastic     character    of 

Torrismond  must  be  allowed,  in  some  measure,  to  counterbalance  that  of 
his  mistress,  however  unhappily  he  has  placed  his  affections.  But  the  real 
excellence  of  these  scenes  consists  less  in  peculiarity  of  character,  than  in 
the  vivacity  and  power  of  the  language,  which,  seldom  sinking  into  vulgarity 
or  rising  into  bombast,  maintains  the  mixture  of  force  and  dignity  best 
adapted  to  the  expression  of  tragic  passion.  Upon  the  whole,  as  the  comic 
part  of  this  play  is  our  author's  masterpiece  in  comedy,  the  tragic  plot  may 
be  ranked  with  his  very  best  efforts  of  that  kind,  whether  in  Don  Sebastian 
or  All  for  Love"  (Ss.  vi.  395,  39G,  398,  399). 

On  the  other  hand,  Professor  Saintsbury  probably  comes  nearer  the  gen- 
eral verdict  of  readers  of  our  own  time  when  he  writes : 

"Elvira  is  an  impudent  and  unattractive  adulteress,  Lorenzo  a  common- 
place rake.  The  tragic  parts  are  uninteresting  to  a  degree,  the  queen  being 
both  bloodthirsty  and  inconsequent,  and  Torrismond  a  vacillating  shilly- 
shally. No  minor  part  redeems  the  play,  and  its  merit  depends  almost  wholly 
on  its  presumed  merits  of  construction  and  on  the  Friar.  The  former,  though 
not  inconsiderable,  are  more  technically  than  really  interesting.  The  latter, 
good  in  his  way,  is  little  more  than  a  blended  reminiscence  of  Falstaff  and 
Fletcher's  Lopez  [in  The  Spaiiish  Curate],  both  very  much  degraded"  (Ss. 
vi.  401). 

In  these  sweeping  assertions  Professor  Saintsbury  lays  his  finger  on 
Dryden's  central  weakness  as  a  dramatist,  his  lack  of  a  sympathetic  under- 
standing of  human  character,  which  he  attempts  to  supply  by  a  careful  de- 
velopment of  accepted  types.  Dryden's  success  is  greater  or  less  according 
as  he  succeeds  in  disguising  his  shallowness  of  conception  by  his  technical 
skill.     Compare  Introduction,  pp.  lili,  liv. 

805.  Dryden's  quotation  from  Martial  should  begin.   Qua  possis  melius 

fallerc.      "That   you   may   be   able   to   cheat   the  better,   assume 
the  gown." 


466  NOTES 

Dryden's   own   translation   of   his   motto  from   Virgil   is  as 
follows : 

Good  unexpected,  evils  unforeseen, 
Appear  by  turns,  as  fortune  shifts  the  scene  : 
Some,  rais'd  aloft,  come  tumbling  down  amain  ; 
Then  fall  so  hard,  they  bound  and  rise  again. 

DEDICATION 

307,  Johiij  Lord  Haughton.     "John  Holies,  Lord  Haughton,  eldest  son 

of  the  Earl  of  Clare.  He  succeeded  to  his  father,  was  created 
Marquis  of  Clare,  and  died  1711."     [Scott.] 

27.     Telling.     Counting. 

31.     In  a  playhouse,  etc.     This  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  fol- 
lowing passages  from  Rymer : 

"A  distinction  is  to  be  made  between  what  pleases  natu- 
rally in  itself,  and  what  pleases  upon  the  account  of  machines, 
actors,  dances  and  circumstances  which  are  merely  accidental 
to  the  tragedy."  (The  Tragedies  of  the  Lust  Age,  1G92,  p.  6.) 
"Whatever  defect  may  be  in  Amintor  and  Melantius,  Mr. 
Hart  and  Mr.  Mohun  are  wanting  in  nothing.  To  these  we 
owe  for  what  is  pleasing  In  the  scene,  and  to  this  scene  we 
may  impute  the  success  of  The  Maid's  Tragedy."  (Hid.  pp. 
138, 139.  i 

308,  7.     Bussy  d'Ambois.     A  tragedy  by  George  Chapman   (1559? — 1634). 

Dryden's  strictures  have  not  found  favor  with  later  critics. 
See  Ward,  English  Dramatic  Literature,  ed.  2,  ii.  419,  420. 
Professor  Ker  states  that  D'Urfey  "says  he  saw  Bussy  acted 
by  Hart  about  1675." 

In  a  translation  of  Boileau's  Art  of  Poetry,  published  in 
1683,  made  by  Sir  William  Soamcs,  and  revised  and  adapted  to 
English  conditions  by  Dryden,   occurs  the  triplet : 

Your  bully  poets,  bully  heroes  write  ;  'j 

Chapman  in  Bussy  d'Ambois  took  delight,  S- 

And  thought  perfection  was  to  huff  and  tight.  J 

(Ss.  XV.  240.) 
9.  Cozen'd  with  a  jelly.     Scott  cites   a   line   from  Dryden's  (Edipus: 
"The  shooting  stars  end   all   in   purple  Jellies"    (Ss.   vi.    159). 
The  following  excerpt  from  Webster's  International  Dictionary 
explains  the  origin  of  the  superstition  referred  to : 

"NosTOC.     A  genus  of  alg.-c 

"Nostoc  commune  is  found  on  the  ground,  and  is  ordinarily 
not  seen ;  but  after  a  rain  it  swells  up  Into  a  conspicuous 
jelly-like  mass,  which  was  formerly  supposed  to  have  fallen 
from  the  sky,  whence  the  popular  names,  fallen  star  and  star 
jelly." 
15.  A  famous  modern  poet,  etc.  "Andrea  Navagero,  (in  Latin  A'ow- 
gerius,)  a  noble  Venetian  and  celebrated  Latin  poet,  who  died 
in  1529,  was  accustomed,  as  Strada  informs  us  in  his  Pro- 
lusiones  Acadcmicw  (lib.  ii.  prol.  5),  on  the  anniversary  of 
his  birthday,  to  burn  the  works  of  Martial;  at  the  same  time 
informing  those  friends  whom  he  invited  to  an  entertainment 
on  the  occasion,  that  this  was  a  sacrifice  to  the  manes  of 
Virgil,  an  author  for  whom  he  had  a  high  admiration :  but 
Balzac,  who  also  mentions  this  circumstance,  says  with  more 


NOTES  467 

probability,  that  Martial  was  sacrificed  by  Navagero  to  the 
manes  of  Catullus.  1  have  nowhere  met  with  an  account 
exactly  corresponding  with  that  mentioned  by  our  author. 
Navagero  indeed,  having  read  to  a  party  of  his  friends  some 
Latin  verses  which  he  had  composed,  and  being  told  by  them 
that  his  lines  had  much  of  the  air  of  Statiux,  whose  poetry 
he  held  in  great  contempt,  was  so  exasperated  that  he  threw 
them  into  the  fire.  (ProL  Acarl.  ut  supr.)  iJr.vden  seems  to 
have  confounded  the  two  anecdotes.  Strada,  however,  was 
probably  his  authority,  the  line  which  he  has  quoted  as  a 
specimen  of  the  style  of  Statins,  (the  first  line  of  his  poem 
entitled  Equus  Domitiani)  being  also  quoted  in  the  same  pro- 
lusion, as  characteristical  of  that  poet."  (Malone,  ii.  .'jO,  ~yl.) 
If  Drydcn  has  really  borrowed  from  Strada,  as  seems  prob- 
able, It  is  the  only  instance  of  his  use  of  that  author.  Con- 
fusion ot  the  two  anecdotes  was  easy,  since  the  poems  that 
Navagero  burnt  in  vexation  were  called  Sylvw,  like  the  work 
of  Statius  that  he  disliked.  Rapin,  with  whom  Dryden  was 
familiar,  gives  this  anecdote  in  the  same  form  as  Balzac ;  see 
his  Reflexions  sur  la  Poeliquc,  ii.  31,  in  Ocuires,  Amsterdam, 
1709,  vol.  ii.  p.  188. — The  editor  has  been  unable  to  locate 
the  anecdote  In   Balzac. 

19.     Maximin.     The  tyrant  in  Dryden's  Tyrannic  Love. 

29.     Bubbles.     Dupes,  gulls. 

34.  QucE  superimposito,  etc.  Statius,  Silvw,  I,  i.  I :  "What  mass 
doubled  by  a  colossus  placed  upon  it? — " 

3G.     Titure,  tu,  etc.     Virgil,  Eclogues,  i.  1.     Dryden  translates: 
Beneath  the  shade  which  beechen  boughs  diffuse, 
you,   Tit'rus,    entertain    your   sylvan    Muse. 

43.  Sylvester's  Dubartas.  The  translation  of  Du  Bartas  his  Divine 
Weekcs  and  Workcs  by  Josuah  Sylvester  (1.5G.3-1618)  has  been 
published  by  Grosart  in  the  Chertsci/  Worthies  Library.  1880. 
The  passage  quoted  by  Dryden  is  from  the  Fourth  Part  of 
the  First  day  of  the  II.  Weekc,  11.  184-187.  Grosarfs  text 
reads : 

But  when  the  Winter's  keener  breath  began 
To  crystallize   the  Boltike  Ocean, 
To  glaze  the  Lakes,  and  bridle  up  the  Flouds, 
And  perriwig  with  wool  the  baldepate  Woods. 
In    his    revision    of    Soames's    translation    of    Boileau's    Art 
of  Poetry  Dryden   again   refers   to   Sylvester : 
Yet  noisy  bumbast  carefully  avoid. 
Nor  think  to  raise,   tho'  on  I'harsalia's  plain, 
Millions  of  mourniuy  viountains  of  the  slain: 
Nor,  with  Dubartas,  bridle  up  the  floods, 
And  periwig  with  wool   the  baldpate  woods." 

(Ss.  XV.  227.) 

309,  2G.  The  propriety  of  thoufjhis  and  words.  Compare  Dryden's  earlier 
words:  "The  definition  of  wit  (which  has  been  so  often 
attempted,  and  ever  unsuccessfully  by  many  poets)  is  only 
this:  That  it  is  a  propriety  of  thoughts  and  words;  or,  in 
other  terms,  thoughts  and  words  elegantly  adapted  to  the 
subject"     (The    Author's    Apology    for    Heroic    Poetry    and 


468  NOTES 

Poetic  License,  [nefaced   to   'J'lic  Stole  of  Innocence;  Ss.  v. 
124). 

310.  5.     Except  those  in    verse.     That   is,  heroic  plays. 

10.  Neither  is  it  so  tririal  (in  undertaking,  etc.  In  his  Preface 
to  Troilus  and  Cressida,  published  only  two  years  before, 
Dryden,  following  Aristotle,  had  written  of  "that  inferior  sort 
of  tragedies,  which  end  with  a  prosperous  event."    (Ss.  vl.  264.) 

TEXT 

311,  11.     Bromingam.     Birmingham  was  noted  at  the  time  for  its  coinage 

of  ba'se  money.  Hence  its  name,  under  various  forms,  of 
which  this  is  one  (v.  N.  E.  D.  under  Brummagem),  became  a 
slang  term  for  counterfeit,  and  has  so  continued  until  the 
present  day. 
21.  yotclt'd.  y.  E.  D.  explains  as  "having  unevenly  or  closely  cropped 
hair,"  and  cites  parallel  passages.  Scott  comments  :  "It  was 
anciently  a  part  of  the  apprentice's  duty  not  only  to  carry 
the  family  Bible  to  church,  but  to  take  notes  of  the  sermon 
for  the  edification  of  his  master  or  mistress." 
3158,     39.     Scouring.     Running  over  and  dispersing. 

43.     A  fair  attempt,  etc.     The  reference  is  probably  to  the  assault  on 
Dryden    himself   in    Rose   Alley   on    December    18,    1679    (v.   n. 
149    (Rochester)    and    to    the    murder    of    Sir    Edmund    Berry 
Godfrey  in  October,  1678. 
46.     The  new-found  pois'ning  trick  of  France.     The  Chamhrc  Ardente 
had  been  in  session  in  1679-80,  investigating  the  Voisin  and 
other  notorious  poisoning  cases. 
Our  Plot.     The  Topish  Plot. 
Squander'd.     Scattered.     Compare : 

And  other  ventures  he  hath,  squander'd  abroad. 

(The  merchant  of  Venice,  I.  iii.  21,  22.) 
Colonel.     Here  three  syllables  ;  cf.  302,   182,  n. 
By  my  computation,  etc.     Dryden  loses  no  opportunity  of  express- 
ing his  hostility  to  priests. 
Score.     Count. 
Tale.     Count. 
Merit's.      Perhaps     merits     should     be     substituted,     though     the 

apostrophe  is  found  is  QqF. 
Penelope's.     Apparently  to  be  pronounced  here  as  three  syllables. 
Want.     v.  273,  444,  n. 

Who   have   we   yonderf     The   form    icho   as   object   of  a   verb   Is 
common    in    Shakspere   and    is    the    regular    usage   in    modern 
spoken   English  ;    see  Abbott,    Shakespearian   Grammar,   §  274 ; 
Sweet,  New  English  Grammar,  §  1086. 
370.     Thee.     Cf.  n.  341,  120. 

377.  And  the  times,  etc.  In  the  early  editions  of  Shakspere  and  Is 
the  regular  spelling  of  the  conditional  particle ;  most  modern 
editors  substitute  an. 
3545,  422.  Pumping.  So  QqF.  If  the  text  is  correct,  it  must  mean  that 
Gomez  does  not  wish  to  have  Lorenzo  question  him.  Pimping 
would  suit  the  context  better. 
3S86,  451.     Camphire.     Camphor. 

456.     No  Carnival,  etc.     Cf.  sr.O,  4.52,  n. 


48. 

316, 

37. 

43. 

318. 

129. 

319, 

147. 

148. 

3*^», 

260. 

274. 

383, 

."503. 

3a4, 

365. 

NOTES  469 

329,     27.     Convince.     Prove  guilty. 
330      72.     Fearful,     v.  109,  31,  n. 

3358.'  145.  These  fairy  favom,  etc.  "Alluding  to  the  common  superstition, 
that  the  continuance  of  the  favors  of  fairies  depends  upon  the 
receiver's  secrecy  :  'This  is  fairy  gold,  boy,  and  't  will  prove  so. 
Up  with  't,  keep  it  close.  Home,  home,  the  next  way.  We 
are  lucky,  boy  ;  and  to  be  so  still  requires  nothing  but  secrecy.' 
Winter's  Tale,  III.  iii.   127-130."      [Scott.] 

334.  91.     At  next  door.     Note   the   apparent   omission   of  the   article.     In 

Middle  p:nglish  this  was  combined  with  at,  forming  atte ;  then, 
with  the  general  loss  of  final  c,  at  alone  remained.  Cf.  422, 
142. 

5.  Nights.     Adverbial  genitive,  not  plural. 

6.  Hilding.     Hussy. 

335,  33.     Murroichoncs.     Knee  bones. 

42.     The  devil  's  in  the  circle.     A  reference  to  the  circle  that  a  con- 
jurer draws  around  himself  before  beginning  his  incantations. 
337,   120.     What   wake   yoii?     What   are  you  doing?  what   are   you   up   to? 
Cf.  194,  142;    340,  7G  ;    3TS,  231. 
127.     Fail.     Means    may    be    construed    either    as    a    singular    or   as    a 
plural ;  the  use  of  the  two  constructions  in  one  sentence,  how- 
ever, suggests  a  misprint. 
130.     With   a  wet  finger.     With  great  ease. 

339,  27.      (footnote)     'Tis  hut,  etc.     Dryden  employs  the  same  figure  from 

the  game  of  chess  in  his  controversy  with  Stillingflcet :  "His 
example  of  praying  daily  for  the  dead  shew'd  his  opinion  at  the 
bottom  ;  but  his  not  publicly  owning  that  be  did  so,  has  prov'd 
him  little  better  than  a  black  bishop  who  has  enter'd  privately 
into  the  white  one's  walk."     (Ss.  xvii.  230.) 

340,  C2.     /  never  teas  out.     "At  a  loss,  baffled."     [Saixtsbury.] 
7tJ.      What  makes,  etc.     Cf.  337,  120,  n. 

341,  81.     Who  have  ice  here.     Cf.  324,  365,  n. 

120.     IJclp   you   out.     In  this  dialogue   Lorenzo  uses  the  singular  pro- 
noun,   in    a    jovial,    mock-friendly    fashion  ;    Gomez,    naturally, 
never  adopts  it.     Cf.  199.  59  n  ;  297,  299,  n  ;  390,  52.  n. 
3458,   14G.     /  find,  etc.     In    this  speech   Lorenzo  changes  his  tone,   adopting 
the  ceremonious  you. 

And  sins.     Cf.  324,  377,  n. 

The  tribe  of  Issachar.     "Issachar  is  a  strong  ass  couching  down 
between  two  burdens."      (Genesis  xlix.   14.) 

The  unknoicn  ice.     Cf.  295.  223,  n. 

What  bull  dare   sheep  dares.     The  shift  of  construction 

from  subjunctive  to  indicative  may  be  intentional  with  Drydea. 

If  then,  etc.     The  rimed  couplet  is  used  for  emphasis. 

The  priesthood,  etc.  The  following  passage  illustrates  Dryden's 
fondness  for  argument  in  verse.  (Cf.  Introduction,  p.  xxvi ; 
The  Conquest  of  Granada.  99,  100,  71-134;  102-1O4,  70-180; 
The  Rehearsal,  400,  1-18;  41(),  15-17.)  On  such  occasions  he 
is  sure  to  drop  into  rime.  In  The  State  of  Innocence,  act  IV 
(Ss.  v.  152-156),  there  is  a  long  rimed  argument  between 
Adam,  Raphael,  and  Gabriel,  on  this  same  question  of  free  will. 
Compare  also  115,  143-150. 
350,   245.     Obdurate.     Pronounced  here  obdu'ratc. 


343, 

210. 

344, 

213. 

345, 

26. 

34G, 

00. 

34M. 

148, 

161 

470 


NOTES 


354. 

128. 

133. 

355. 

166. 

351,    287.     Ahoding.     On  the  use  of  abode  in  the  sense  of  the  more  common 
hode,  compare : 

This  tempest, 
Dashing  the  garment  of  this  peace,  aboded 
The  sudden  breach  on  't. 

(Henry  Till,  I.  i.  92-94.) 
3558.     59.     Yes,  by  certainty.     "This  retort  brings  out  the  proper  sense  of 
jealousy    {suspicion   of   rivalry),    which    is   often   lost   or   for- 
gotten."    Saintsbury. 
353,     73.     Anf/cls.     A  play  on  the  use  of  angel  in  the  sense  of  a  gold  coin. 
Cf.  404,  56,  n. 

94.  Ana's.     "[Greek   &j/d    (used  distributively).]      (Med.)      Of  each; 

an  equal  quantity  ;  as,  wine  and  honey,  ana  3ij.  that  Is,  of 
wine  and  honey,  each,  two  ounces."  (Webster's  International 
Dictionary.) 

95.  Sir  Dominic.     Sir,  as  a  translation  of  the  Latin   dominus,  was 

colloquially  applied  to  the  clergy,  often,  as  here,  with  a  shade 
of  contempt.     Compare  Chaucer's  : 

This  swete  preest,  this  goodly  man,  sir  John. 
(Canterbury  Tales,  B  4010.) 
Assassinates.     Assassins.     The   word  occurs   also   in   (Edipus,  by 

Dryden  and  Lee.     (Ss.  vi.  217.) 
He  has  rail'd,  etc.     The  political  satire  is  obvious. 
0  my  gold,  etc.     Imitated  from  Shaksperc  : 

My  daughter  !     O  my  ducats  !     O  my  daughter  ! 
Fled  with  a  Christian  I     O  my  Christian  ducats ! 
Justice !    the  law  !    my  ducats,  and  my  daughter ! 

(The   Merchant   of  Venice,   IL   viii.   15-17.) 
357,   256.     Under  covert-baron,  etc.     A  married  woman   is  called   in  law  a 
feme   covert,   and    is    said    to   be    under   covert-baron.      Gomez 
jocosely  coins  the  phrase  under  covert-feme. 
359,     79.     Shreicd.     It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  word  is  here  used  in  the 
sense  of  evil,  mischievous,  or  in  that  of  cunning,  artful;  both 
these  senses  are  found  in  Shakspere. 
3«0,  100.     If  princes,  etc.     These  lines  apparently  refer  to  the  circumstances 
attending  the  impeachment  of  the  Ean  of  Danby.     v.  n.  223 
(Danby). 
361,  157.     You  do  not  knoic,  etc.     Here  again  is  a  vein  of  political  satire, 

directed  at  the  Whig  mob  of  London  ;  cf.  p.  463. 
36$S,   182.     Colonel.     In  Dryden's  time  this  word  was  sometimes  pronounced 
as  three  syllables,  sometimes  as  two ;  v.  N.  E.  D.  and  cf.  316, 
43,   n.      In   the   following   line   Dryden   may   possibly  have   in- 
tended the  familiar  abbreviation  coll. 
363,   240.     At  last,  etc.     Dryden  gives  emphasis  to  his  sententious  moraliz- 
ing by  reverting  to  rime  ;    cf.  n.  348,  161. 
36S,     38.     Prevents.     Anticipates,  comes  before. 

Pointed.     Appointed.     Used  again  by   Dryden   in   his   translation 
of   The  Ninth   Ode  of  the  First  Book  of  Horace,  line  32,   in 
which    passage    also,    however,    the    Scott-Saintsbury    edition 
(xii.   363)   wrongly  prints  appointed. 
39.     Told  the  clocks.     Counted  the   strokes  of  the  clocks. 
59.     Doubts.     Suspects;  cf.  140,  29,  n. 
37*,   198.     Orange   tawny.     "Apparently  the   uniform  of  the  'city  bands.'" 
Saintsbury. 


NOTES  471 

374,  59.  Breathing  of  the  temple  reiv..  To  breathe  a  vein  is  to  lance  It 
so  as  to  let  blood. 
65.  At  hardhead.  This  apparently  refers  to  a  primitive  sport  In 
which  two  men  butt  against  each  other  to  decide  whose  head 
Is  the  harder.  In  The  Hind  and  the  Panther  (part  ii,  line 
443;  Ss.  X.   177)   Dryden  has  the  line: 

Both  play  at  hardhead  till  they  break  their  brains. 

377,  205.      'So!     'Tis,  etc.      The   pause   after   no   compensates   metrically   for 

the  omission  of  a  syllable,     ("f.  a!>8,  :!(il,  n. 

378,  2:58.     Bclsuayycr.      "A    swaggering   gallant    or    bully;    a    whoremonger, 

pimp."      (N.   E.  D.) 

379,  2G0.     Circtinihendihiin.    A  roundabout  method.    This  is  the  first  instance 

of   the  word  cited  in   Is'.   E.   I).      Dryden   may   have  coined  the 

expression,    l)ut    more    probably    took    it    from    contemporary 

slang. 
274.     A   household  phif/ue.     "A   red  cross,    with   the   words,   'Lord  have 

mercy  upon  us,'  w»ss  placed,  during  the  great  plague,  upon  the 

houses  visited  by   the  disease."      Scott. 
280.     Crocodile  of  Silus.     Cf.  n.  Sii,  18. 

380,  29'J.     Laborinfj.     Belaboring. 

310.  Rodomont.  A  boasting  hero  in  the  Orlando  Furioso  of  Ariosto 
and  the  Orlando  Innamoratu  of  Boiardo.  Spelled  Rhodomont 
in   the  early  editions. 

312-314.     But  if friar.     If  the  reading  of  Q2Q3Q4  were  adopted, 

these   lines   might    be    arranged    metrically   as   follows,   giving 
an   irregular  jingling  couplet  at   the  close  of  Gomez's  speech  : 
But  if  you   want  a   through-pac'd  liar. 
That  will  swear 

Thi"o'  thick  and  thin,  commend  me  to  a  friar. 
321.  Demofjorf/on.  One  may  borrow  Saintsbury's  note  upon  this  word 
as  used  by  Dryden  in  another  connection  :  "Demogorgon,  one 
of  the  more  esoteric  and  apocryphal  deities  of  mythology,  has 
not  much  propriety  here,  except  as  supplying  a  name  of  excel- 
lent sound."  (Ss.  xi.  389.)  Gomez  is  of  course  searching 
for  a  word  that  shall  be  more  terrible  than  Oorgon. 
3858,    387.     In  quirpo.     In  body  ;  that  is,  in  his  underclothes. 

Cas'd.     Skinned.  Compare  :      "We   '11    make   you   some   sport   with 
the  fox  ere  we  case  him."     (All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  III.  vi. 
110,111.) 
408.     Fact.     Crime,  as  always  in  Shakspere. 
383,    23,  24.     Devil:  civil,     v.  418,  GO,  Gl,  n. 

34.     Well  may,  etc.     A  fling  at  transubstantiation. 
384^      40.     And  learn,  etc.     There  is  a  similar  allusion   in  Oldham's   Satires 
upon  the  Jesuits.      (Satire  ii ;  Poetical   Works,  London,   1854, 
p.    103.) 


THE  EEIIEARSAL 

On  the  history  of  Thr  nchcnrf!aJ,  see  Iniroiluc1io)i,  pp.  xxxi,  xxxii. 
The  text  of  the  picseiit  edition  has  lieen  formed  by  a  collation  of 
Arbor's  reprint  (London,  1S08)  with  the  first  edition  '1G72).  Spelling  and 
punctuation  are  here  modernized  in  the  same  way  as  for  Dryden.  On  later 
editions  of  the  play  see  Iniroduction,  p.  xxxii,  n.  3.  The  present  notes  give 
such  additions  to  the  text  as  appear  in  the  third  edition  (1675)  ;  but  usually 
do  not  record  minor  variations  of  text  between  the  first  and  third,  or  between 
the  third  and  sixth  (1G92)  editions.  The  editions  of  1072,  lG7.j,  and  1692 
are  here  cited  as  Ql,  Qo,  Q6 ;  collectively,  as  Qq.  The  intermediate  quartos 
were  not  accessible  to  the  present  editor.  Scene  headings  and  similar  matter 
supplied  l)y  the  present  editor  (v.  pp.  3,SS,  391)  are  inclosed  in  brackets. 
Actus  and  scccna  of  the  original  edition  have  been  changed  into  act  and 
scene;  on  p.  41S  scwna  i  has  been  omitted.  The  division  into  scenes  of  acts 
II,  III,  IV  is  retained  from  Qq. 

In  1701  a  seventh  edition  of  The  Rehearsal  appeared,  containing  some 
trifling  --explanatory  notes,"  only  four  in  all.  (The  editor  has  used  the 
copy  owned  by  the  Harvard  College  Library.)  In  1704  the  l)ookseller  Briscoe 
issued  a  Kei/  to  The  Rehearsal.  (The  copy  that  the  editor  has  used  is 
incorporated  in  The  Second  VoJumc  of  Miscellaneous  icorks  written  hy 
Georye,  late  Duke  of  JiuckitKjhnin,  London,  1705.)  Briscoe  represents,  proba- 
bly as  a  mere  literary  device,  that  he  obtained  his  material  from  an  old 
gentleman  of  his  acquaintance.  The  Information  contained  in  this  Key  was 
frequently  reprinted  in  the  form  of  footnotes  to  later  editions  of  The  Re- 
hearsal. Of  these  the  editor  has  examined  that  contained  in  the  edition  of 
Buckingham's  works  published  in  1775.  Towards  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century  Bishop  Percy  prepared  a  key  to  The  Rehearsal,  which  was  never 
published,  but  a  copy  of  which  is  preserved  in  the  British  Museum.  From 
this  I'rofessor  Arber  drew  much  material  for  his  reprint,  besides  adding 
occasional  notes  of  his  own.  From  these  various  sources  the  following  notes 
are  largely  compiled.  (Bishop  Percy's  work  could  be  used  only  so  far  as 
reprinted  by  Professor  Arber.)  References  to  contemporary  plays  have 
been  verified  when  possible.  Notes  taken  from  Professor  Arber  are  signed 
with  his  name,  which  has  been  enclosed  in  brackets  in  case  the  original 
form  of  expression  has  been  in  any  way  altered.  The  same  notation  is 
adopted  for  the  notes  taken  from  the  Key  of  1704  or  from  the  1775  edition. 
In  cases  where  these  authorities  have  merely  furnished  a  reference  to  an  old 
play,  the  fact  is  indicated  by  an  A,  K,  or  N  in  brackets  after  the  note. 

In  the  Barton  Collection  at  the  Boston  Public  Library  there  is  an  inter- 
leaved copy  of  the  third  edition  of  The  Rehearsal  (1675)  that  once  belonged 
to  Narcissus  Luttrell.  It  is  inscribed  iVar.  Luttrell :  His  Book  1682,  and 
contains  many  manuscript  notes  in  his  hand.  With  one  exception,  however 
(v.  n.  408,  159),  these  add  nothing  to  the  material  contained  in  the  Key 
of  1704. 
387,        2.     Posy.     Bouquet. 

10.  King  Cambyses'  vein.  The  allusion  is  of  course  to  Shakspere : 
"Fal.'itaff.  Give  me  a  cup  of  sack  to  make  my  eyes  look  red, 
that  it  may  be  thought  I  have  wept ;  for  I  must  speak  in 
passion,  and   I  will  do  it  in  King  Cambyses'   vein"    {1  Henry 

472 


NOTES  473 

IV,  II.  iv.  422-42G).  Shakspere  In  his  turn  is  ridiculing  an 
old  play  by  Thomas  Preston,  published  in  1570,  A  Lament- 
able Traijedie  mixed  full  of  plc.sant  viirth,  containiny  the 
Life  of  Cambines  King  of  Percia.  It  may  be  remarked  that 
Shakspere  here  uses  passion  in  the  sense  of  violent  sorrow, 
and  that  the  author  of  this  prologue  misunderstands  him. 

16.  For,  like  a  rook,  etc.  A  rook  is  a  sharper.  To  hedge  in  a  bet 
is  to  bet  on  both  sides  of  a  bargain,  so  as  to  be  certain  of 
winning.  If  the  critics  laugh  at  his  bombast.  Lacy  has 
gained  his  object ;  if  they  are  foolish  enough  to  take  him 
seriously,  he  will  turn  tragic  actor. 

27.     John    Ldcij.      Lacy    was    one    of    the    best    comic    actors    of    the 
period,  and  a  dramatist  as  well  as  an  actor.     lie  created  the 
part  of  Mr.  Bayes ;  cf.  Introduction,  p.  xxxii,  n.  4. 
389,      18.     Aye.      Here,    and    generally    throughout    the    play,    the    original 
editions  read  /. 

33.     To   elevate  and  surprise.     Cf.    11,    l-l.'i. 
89U,      41.     Mr.  Bayes.     On  Mrs.  Mountfort  in  this  part,  see  n.  105. 

52.  Wilt  thou.  .Johnson  often  addresses  Bayes  with  the  singular 
pronoun,   rather   from   contempt   than    from    familiarity. 

61,62.     In   fine Europe.     "The   usual    language   of   the    Honorable 

F^dward  Howard,  Esq.,  at  the  rehearsal  of  his  plays."  Key, 
1704. 

62.  I'yud.  Here,  and  throughout  the  play,  the  original  editions 
read  /  yud. 

80.  These  my  rules.  The  Kty  of  1704  refers  to  the  opening  lines  of 
Dryden's  prologue  to  Secret  Love;  or.  The  Maiden  Queen: 

I. 
He  who  writ  this,  not  without  pains  and  thought 
From   French  and   English   theaters  has  brought 
Th'   cxactest   rules   by   which   a   play   is  wrought : 

IL 
The    unities    of    action,    place,    and    time ; 
The   scenes    unbroken  ;    and   a    mingled   chime 
Of  .Tonson's  humor  with   ("orncille's  rime. 

82.  Tlie  rule  of  iransrcrsion.  "Gerard  Langbaine,  in  his  Account 
of  the  English  Dramatic  Poets,  1601,  p.  169,  noticing  Dryden"s 

Secret  Lore;    or,   The  Maiden   Queen,  says:      "I cannot 

pass  by  his  making  use  of  Bayes's  art  of  transversing,  as  any 
one  may  observe  by  comparing  the  fourth  stanza  of  his  first 
prologue   with   the   last   paragraph   of   the   preface   to  Ibrahim.' 

"The  title  of  this  work  is  as  follows  :  'Ibrahim.  Or  the 
Illustrious  liassa.  An  excellent  new  Romance.  The  whole 
Work  in  fourc  I'arts.  Written  in  French  by  Monsieur  de 
iScudcry.  And  now  Englished  by  Hk.vry  Cogan,  gent.  London 
1652.'     The  paragraph  referred  to  runs  thus  : 

"  "Behold,  reader,  that  which  I  had  to  say  to  you,  hut  what 
defense  soever  I  have  imployed,  I  know  that  it  is  of  works 
of  this  nature,  as  of  a  place  of  war,  where,  notwithstanding 
all  the  care  the  engineer  hath  brought  to  fortify  it,  there 
is  always  some  weak  part  found,  which  he  hath  not  dreamed 
of,   and  whereby   it   is  assaulted ;    but  this   shall   not  surprise 


474  NOTES 

me ;    for   as   I    have   not  forgot  that    I    am   a   man,    no   more 
have  I  forgot  that  I  am  subject  to  err." 

"This    is    thus    versified    in    the    fourth    stanza   of    the    same 
prologue. 

IV. 
"Plays   are   like    towns,    which,    howe'er   fortified 
By  engineers,   have  still  some  weaker  side 
By  the  o'er-seen  defendant  unespied." 

[Arber.] 
391,    112.     Presently.     Immediately. 

113.  All  iliut  Pcr.sius,  etc.  This  grotesque  passage  probably  has 
some  foundation  in  fact.  Dryden,  in  his  Essay  of  Dramatic 
Poesy,  devotes  a  paragraph  to  the  formal  division  of  a  play 
into  protasis,  epitasis,  catastasis,  and  catastrophe,  which  he 
ascril)es  to  Aristotle  (v.  Ss.  xv.  30:i,  :!04  ;  Ker,  i.  44-46,  294). 
The  division  really  goes  back  only  to  Scaliger's  Poetics.  The 
passage  is  so  long,  and  the  agreement  with  Scaliger  so  close, 
that  one  can  hardly  suppose  Dryden  to  be  quoting  from 
memory  alone.  It  is  a  natural  inference  that  Dryden  had 
transferred  the  passage  from  Scaliger  to  his  commonplace 
book,  without  noting  the  name  of  the  author,  and  that  on 
coming  to  use  it  he  carelessly  ascribed  it  to  Aristotle,  the 
fount  of  all  dramatic  criticism. 
110.  Aye,  sirs,  etc.  Q3  here  reads  simply :  Sirs,  if  you  make  the 
least  scrirple,  etc.  The  line  omitted  is  expanded  later ;  v.  n. 
aSKS,  85. 
39^  32.  She  is  my  mistress.  "The  part  of  Amaryllis  was  acted  by  Mrs. 
Ann  Reeves,  who,  at  that  time,  was  kept  by  Mr.  Bayes." 
Key,   1704. 

This  passage  is  expanded  in  Q3  in  such  a  way   as  to  make 
Mr.    Bayes   more   ludicrous : 

Bayes.     Aye,  it's  a  pretty  little  rogue;  I  knew  her  face  would 

set    off    armor    extremely  :    and,    to    tell    you    true,    I    write 

that  part  only  for  her.     You  must  know  she  is  my  mistress. 

Johns.     Then    I    knov>-    another   thing,    little    Bayes,    that    thou 

hast  had  her,  V  gad. 
Boyes.    "No,   i'  gad,  not  yet ;   but   I'm  sure   I   shall,   for  I   have 

talk'd  bawdy  to  her  already. 
Johns.     Hast  thou,  faith?     Pr'ythee  how  was  that? 
Bayes.     Why,    sir,    there    is    in    the   French    tongue   a   certain 
criticism,    which,    by   the   variation    of   the    masculine   adjec- 
tive   instead   of    the    feminine,    makes   a    quite    different   sig- 
nification of  the  word  :  as,   for  example,   ?»a  vie  is  my  life  ; 
but  if  before  vie  you  put  man  instead  of  ma.  you  make  it 
bawdy. 
Johns.     Very  true. 

Bayes.  Now,  sir,  I,  having  observ'd  this,  set  a  trap  for  her 
the  other  day  in  the  tiring-room  ;  for  this,  said  I  :  "Adieu, 
Icl  esperansa  de  ma  rie;"  which,  i'  gad,  is  very  pretty. 
To  which  she  answer'd,  I  vow,  almost  as  prettily,  every 
jot,  for,  said  she  :  Son;/€z  a  ma  rie,  mounsieur."  Where- 
upon I  presently  snapp'd  this  upon  her  :  "Xon,  non,  madam. 
— soncjes  vous  a  mon,''  by  gad,  and  nam'd  the  thing  directly 
to  her. 


NOTES  475 

Smi.     This  is  one  of  the  richest  stories,  Mr.  Bayes,  that  ever 

I   heard  of. 
Bayes.     Aye,    let    me    alone,    i'    gad,    when    I   get    to   'em ;    I'll 

nick    'em,    I    warrant   you.     But   I'm   a    little   nice;    for  you 

must    icnow,    at    this    time,    I    am    kept    by    another    woman, 

in  the  city. 
Sini.     How  kept?  foi*  what? 

Bayed.     Why,  for  a  beau  (jcrson ;  I  am,  i'sackins. 
Smi.     Nay,  then  we  shall   never  have  done. 
Bayes.     And   the   rogue   is   so   fond   of   me,    Mr.   Johnson,   that 

I  vow  to  gad,  I  know  not  what  to  do  with  myself. 
Johns.     Do  with  thyself!  no;   I  wonder  how   thou  canst  make 

a  shift  to  hold  out,  at  this  rate. 
Bayes.     O   devil,    I    can    toil    like   a    horse ;    only    sometimes   it 

makes  me  melancholy  :  and  then  I  vow  to  gad,  for  a  whole 

day  together  I   am  not  able   to  say  you  one  good  thing  if 

it  were  to  saite  my  life. 
Smi.     That  we  do  verily  believe,  Mr.  Bayes. 
Bayes.     And    that's    the   only    thing,    i'    gad,    which   mads   me 

in   my   amours ;  for   I'll   tell   you,   as  a  friend,   Mr.   Johnson, 

my   acquaintances,    I    hear,   begin   to   give   it   out   that   I   am 

dull  :    now    I    am   the   farthest   from   it   in   the   whole   world, 

1'   gad ;   but  only,   forsooth,   they  think   I   am  so,  because  I 

can  say  nothing. 
Johns.     Phoo,  pox,  that's  ill-natur'dly  done  of  'em. 
Bayes.     Aye  gad,    there's   no    trusting   o'    these    rogues ;   but — 

a — come,    let's    sit    down.     Look    you,   sirs,    the   chief   hinge, 

etc." 

Mrs.  Reeve   (the  correct  form  of  her  name)   played  the  part 
of  Philotis   in   Maniaye  a  la   Mode  and  of  Esperanza  in    The 
Conquest    of   Granada.     The    phrase    hcl   esperansa   de    ma    vie 
of  course  alludes  to  the  latter  part. 
41.     Two  kin<js,  etc.     "Supposed  to  be  the  two  brothers,  the  King  and 
the    Duke."      [Key,    1704.]      Cf.    n.    411,    5.     Brentford    is    a 
market  town  seven  miles  southwest  of  London. 
393,      GO.     For   either.     After    these    words    Q3    inserts :    "that    Is,    the    pro- 
logue for  the  epilogue,  or  the  epilogue  for  the  prologue." 
C3.     Artificial.      Here,    as    regularly    in    eighteenth    century    criticism, 
and  even  in  Scott  (cf.  Introduction,  p.  xxxiv)  this  word  means 
artful,  well-contrived,  artistic. 
71.     To    which    end,    etc.     "See    the    two    prologues    to    The    Maiden 
Queen."     Key,  1704. 

The  parody  of  Secret  Love;  or,  The  Maiden  Queen  is  close 
enough  for  the  purposes  of  satire.  The  prologue  to  that  play 
is  divided  Into  two  parts,  the  close  of  the  first  of  which,  and 
the  opening  of  the  second,  are  as  follows.  (The  triplet  im- 
mediately preceding  the  lines  quoted  has  already  been  cited, 
in  n.  390,  82.) 

V. 
And  with  that  art  you  make  approaches  now  ; 
Such   skilful   fury   in   assaults   you   show, 
That  every   poet  without   shame   may  bow. 


476  NOTES 

VI. 

Ours  Ihereforo  huml)ly  would  attend  your  doom, 
If,    soldlor-Iike,    he   may   have   terms    to   come 
With  flying  colors  and  with  beat  of  drum. 
The  Prologue  (joes  out,  and  stays  u-hile  a  tune  is  play'd,  after 
tchich  he  returns  again. 

Second  Prologl'e. 

I   had  forgot  one  half,   I   do  protest, 
And  now  am  sent  again  to  speak  the  rest. 
He  bows  to  every  great  and  noble  wit ;    "^ 
But  to  the  little  Hectors  of  the  pit  [■ 

Our  poet's   sturdy,   and   will   not  submit.  J 

(Ss.  ii.  422,  423.) 
91.  7  have  printed,  etc.  "There  were  printed  papers  given  the 
audience  before  the  acting  The  Indian  Emperor,  telling  them 
that  it  was  the  sequel  of  The  Indian  Queen,  part  of  which 
play  was  written  by  Mr.  Bayes,  etc."  Key,  1704.  See  Intro- 
duction, pp.  xs,  xxi ;  Ss.  ii.  321,  322. 
394,  100,101.  Persons  ....  i'  gad.  "Person,  i'  gad,  I  vow  to  gad,  and  all 
that  is  the  constant  style  of  Failer  in  The  M'ild  Gallant,  for 
which  take  this  short  speech,   instead  of  many  : 

"  'Failer.  Really,  madam,  I  look  upon  you  as  a  person  of 
such  worth,  and  all  that,  that  I  vow  to  gad  I  honor  you  of 
all  persons  in  the  world ;  and  tbo'  I  am  a  person  that  am 
inconsiderable  in  the  world,  and  all  that,  madam,  yet  for  a 
person  of  your  worth  and  excellency  I  would — '  "  Key^  1704. 
Cf.  Ss.  ii.  62. 
116.  There  are  certain  ties  upon  me.  "He  contracted  with  the  King's 
Company  of  actors  in  the  year  1668,  for  a  whole  share,  to 
write  them  four  plays  a  year."     Key,  1704. 

Malone    in    his    Life    of    Dryden     (pp.    71-78)     shows    that 
Dryden  contracted  to  write  three  plays  a  year  for  a  share  and 
a  quarter,  and  that  he  never  fulfilled  the  terms  of  this  con- 
tract. 
129.     I  make  my  prologue  to  he  dialogue.     This  device  Dryden  adopted 

for  The  Wild  Gallant  and  The  Rival  Ladies. 
140.     So   hoar   and   soio,   etc.     For   the   passage   parodied,    v.    79,    128 
f.   [K.l 
391,    151.     Enter  Thunder  and  Lightning. 

Song  in   Dialogue. 
Evening.     I   am   an  evening  dark  as  night,   .Tack-with-the-lan- 

tern  bring  a  light. 
Jack.     Whither,  whither,  whither?  [Within. 

Evening.     Hither,   hither,   hither. 
Jack.     Thou  art  some  prattling  echo  of  my  making. 
Evening.     Thou  art  a  foolish  fire,  by  thy  mistaking: 
I  am  the  Evening  that  creates  thee. 
Enter    Jack    in    a    hlack    suit    horder'd    with    gloicworms,    a 
coronet  of  shaded  beams  on  his  head,  over  it  a  paper  lantern 
with  a  candle  in  't. 

Jack.     My  lantern  and  my  candle  waits  thee. 
Evening.     Those  flageolets   that  we  heard   play, 
Are    reapers    who   have   lost   their   way ; 


NOTES  477 

They  play,  they  sing,  thoy  dance  a  round : 
Lead  them  up,  here's  fairy  ground. 

Chorus. 

Let  the  men   ware  the  ditches ; 
Maids,  loolf  to  your  breeches. 
We'll  scratch  them  with  l)riars  and  thistles: 
When  the  flageolets  cry, 
We  are  a-dry  ; 
Pond  water  shall  wet  their  whistles. 

[Exeunt  Evening,   Winds,   and  Jack. 
SiK   R.    Stapylton,   The  SUyhtcd   Maid,  1663,   act   III,   pp.   48, 
49.      [K.] 

Dryden    speaks   slightingly    of   this   play    in   his    prologue   to 
Charles    Davenant's    Ciiee,   Ss.    x.    330 ;    and   In   A   Parallel   of 
Poetry  and  Paintiny,  Ss.  xvii.  325.     Cf.  424,  238,  n. 
168.     Peter.     A  cosmetic  of  some  sort. 

183.  Mr.  Ivory.  "Abraham  Ivory  had  formerly  been  a  considerable 
actor  of  women's  parts,  but  afterwards  stupified  himself  so 
far,  with  drinking  strong  waters,  that,  before  the  first  acting 
of  this  farce,  he  was  fit  for  nothing  but  to  go  of  errands  ;  for 
which,  and  mere  charity,  the  company  allowed  him  a  weekly 
salary."  Key,  1704. 
390,        5.     /  heyin  this  with  a  uhiaper. 

''Drake   Sen.     Draw  up   our   men, 
And  in  low  whispers  give  our  orders  out. 

Davenant,  The  Playhouse  to  be  Let,  act  III,  entry  vi. 
"See  The  Amorous  Prince,  page  20,  22,  39,  69,   where  you 
will  find  all   the  chief  commands  and  directions  are  given  in 
whispers."     Key,   1704. 

The    Amorous    Prince    is    a    comedy    by    Aphra    Behn.     The 
references   above    may  be   found   in   Pearson's   reprint   of   her 
Plays,  Histories,   and  Novels,   London,    1871,   vol.    iv,   pp.    278, 
280,  296,  316.     Cf.  also  The  Conquest  of  Granada,  «4,  117. 
18.     Physician.     Ql  reads  physicians. 

397,  58.     /  despise,  etc.     A  reference  to  the  epilogue  of  The  Conquest   of 

Granada,  Part  II  (p.  136),  and  perhaps  one  cause  of  Dryden's 
Defense  of  the  Epilogue. 
76.  Mr.  Wintcrshall.  Spelled  Winiershull  in  Ql.  "Mr.  William 
WintershuU  was  a  most  excellent,  judicious  actor,  and  the 
best  instructor  of  others  ;  he  died  in  July,  1679."  Key,  1704. 
Wintershall  played  the  part  of  Selin  in  The  Conquest  of 
Granada,  and  of  Polydamas  in  Marriage  a  la  Mode. 

398,  85.     This  new  kind  of  foppery.     Q3  here  adds  the  following  passage  : 

Smi.      Pox    on't,    but    there's    no    pleasure    in    him:     he's    too 

gross  a  fool  to  be  laugh'd  at. 
Enter  Bayes. 
Johns.     I'll  swear,  Mr.  Bayes,  you  have  done  this  scene  most 

admirably ;  tho"  I  must  tell  you,  sir,   it  is  a  very  difficult 

matter  to  pen  a   whisper  well. 
Bayes.     Aye,   gentlemen,   when   you   come   to  write  yourselves, 

o'  my  word,  you'll  find  it  so. 
Johns.     Uave   a   care   of   what   you   say,    Mr.    Bayes,    for   Mr. 


478  NOTES 

Smith  there,  I  assure  you,  has  written  a  great  many  fine 
things  already. 
Baycs.     Has  he,   i'sackins?     Why   then  pray,   sir,   how  do  you 

do   when  you  write. 
Slid.     Faith,    sir,    for    the    most    part    I    am    in    pretty    good 

health. 
Bayes.     No,  but  I  mean,  what  do  you  do  when  you  write. 
Snii.     I    take   pen,   ink,   and   paper,   and  sit   down. 
Bayes.     Now    1    write    standing ;    that's    one    thing :    and    then 

another  thing  is,  with  what  do  you  prepare  yourself? 
Siiii.     Prepare   myself!  what   the  devil   does  the  fool  mean? 
Bayes.     Why,    I'll    tell    you,    new,    what    I    do.     If    I    am    to 
write   familiar  things,    as   sonnets   to  Armida  and  the  like, 
I    make    use   of    stew'd    prunes    only ;    but    when    I    have    a 
grand  design   in   hand,   I   ever  take   physic  and  let  blood ; 
for.   when   you   would  have   pure   swiftness  of  thought  and 
fiery  flights  of  fancy,  you  must  have  a  care  of  the  pensive 
part.     In   fine,   you  must   purge   the  belly. 
Snii.     Ey  my   troth,   sir,    this   is   a  most  admirable  receipt  for 

writing. 
Bayes.     Aye,   't  is  my  secret ;   and,   in  good  earnest,   I   think, 

one   of  the  best   I   have. 
Smi.     In  good  faith,  sir,  and  that  may  very  well  be. 
Baycs.     May    be,    sir?     I' gad,    I'm    sure    on't :    expcrto    credo 
Roberto.     But   I   must  give  you   this   caution  by  the  way, 
be  sure  you  never  take  snufif  when  you  write. 
Smi.     Why    so,    sir? 

Bayes.     Why,  it  spoil'd  me  once,  1'  gad,  one  of  the  sparkishest 
plays  in  all  England.     But  a  friend   of  mine  at  Gresham 
College  has   promis'd  to   help  me   to  some  spirit  of  brains, 
and,    i'  gad,   that   shall   do    my   business. 
On  this  passage  the  following  notes  are  of  interest : 
If  I  am  to  write  familiar  tilings,  etc. 
"This    humorous    account    of    Mr.    Bayes's    management    of 
himself    is    a    banter    upon    Mr.    Dryden's    practice,    which    is 
alleged  to  have  been  much  as  here  represented."     Notes,  1775. 
A  letter  from  Dryden  to  .Jacob  Tonson   (Ss.  xviii.  Ill)  gives 
incidental  evidence  of  Dryden's  taste  for  stewed  plums.     For 
"sonnets  to  Armida,"  compare  n.  404,  77. 
Be  sure  you  never  take  snuff,  etc. 
"He  was  a  great  taker  of  snuff,  and  made  most  of  it  him- 
self."    Key,  1704. 

On   the   more   particular   references  in   the  closing  lines   the 
editor  can  find  no  light. 
14.     Mon  foi.     Purposely  incorrect  for  ma  foi. 

16.  /  makes  'em.  So  Ql  and  Q3,  probably  for  humorous  effect ; 
Q6  reads  make.  Professor  Jespersen  remarks  (Growth  and 
Structure  of  the  English  Language,  %  198)  that  this  is  the 
oldest  instance  of  this  vulgarism  that  be  has  noted. 
24.  It  was  I,  etc.  The  following  lines  are  somewhat  expanded  in 
Q3  and  Q6 : 

It  was  I,  you  must  know,   that  have  written  a  whole  play 
just  in  this  very  same  style,  but  it  was  never  acted  yet. 
Johns.     How  so? 


NOTES  479 

Bayes.     I"  gad,  I  can  hardly  toll  you  for  laughing,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

it  is  so  pleasant  a  story,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Bmi.     What    is't  V 

Bayes.     I'  gad,  the  players  refus'd  to  act  it,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
8mi.     That's    impossible. 
Bayes.     1"  gad  they  did  it,  sir  ;  point  blank  refus'd  it,  I'  gad  ; 

ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Johns.  Fie,  that  was  rude. 
399,  48.  Nursery.  This  was  a  theater  erected  under  a  patent  issued  by 
Charles  11  in  1664  "for  the  makcing  upp  and  supplying  of  a 
company  for  acting  of  playes,  and  instructing  boyes  and 
gyrlcs  in  the  art  of  playing,  to  bee  in  the  nature  of  a  Nur- 
sery, from  time  to  time  to  be  removed  to  the  said  two  severall 
theatres  abovementioned  (that  is,  those  of  the  King's  Com- 
pany and  of  the  Duke's  Company],  which  said  company  shall 
bee  called  by  the  name  of  a  Nursery"  (Hhakespeare  iSociety's 
Papers,  vol.  iii,  1847,  p.  167).  The  patent  adds:  "We  doe 
expressly  hereby  prohibite  that  any  obscene,  scandalous,  or 
offensive  passages  be  brought  upon  the  stage,  but  such  onely 
shalbe  there  had  and  used,  as  may  consist  with  harmeless 
and  inoffensive  delights  and  recreations."  The  Nursery  stood 
in  Golding  (later  Golden)  Lane,  near  the  Barbican.  It  was 
much  ridiculed  by  the  wits  of  the  time.  Dryden  selected  it 
as  the  scene  of  the  enthronement  of  Shadwell  as  king  of  "all 
the   realms  of  Nonsense  ;"   see  Mac  Flecknoe. 

Mump  your  proud  players,  i' <jad.  Q."?  here  makes  the  fol- 
lowing addition :  "So ;  now  Prince  l*retty-man  comes  in  and 
falls  asleep,  making  love  to  his  mistress,  which,  you  know, 
was  a  grand  intrigue  in  a  late  play,  written  by  a  very  honest 
gentleman,   a  knight." 

A  note  in  the  Key  of  1704  states  that  the  late  play  was 
"The  Lost  Lady,  by  Sir  Robert  Stapleton."  The  Lost  Lady 
(London,  1639)  was  really  written  by  Sir  William  Berkeley 
(to  whom  it  is  ascribed  in  the  list  of  Plays  named  in  this  Key, 
published  with  the  Key  of  1704)  and  is  included  in  the 
twelfth  volume  of  Ilazlitt's  edition  of  Dodsley's  Old  En<jlish 
Plays.  The  above  note  is  apparently  Incorrect  in  asserting 
that  the  play  was  ridiculed  in  The  Rehearsal,  but  some 
ground  for  the  statement  may  be  discovered.  Lysicles,  the 
hero  of  the  drama,  has  lost  his  mistress  by  a  foul  murder, 
and  now  does  nightly  reverence  to  her  tomb.  At  the  opening 
of  act  I,  sc.  li,  he  enters  to  her  tomb,  and  then  apparently 
remains  in  the  background  during  the  conversation  of  two 
minor  characters :  perhaps  he  is  supposed  to  sleep  before  his 
beloved's   remains. 

The  true  object  of  satire  is  probably  indicated  in  the  fol- 
lowing note  : 

"Bishop  I'ercy  states  that  this  addition  alludes  to  Quercr 
por  solo  Querer:    To  Love  only  for  Love's  Sake:    a  dramatlck 

romance written  in  Spanish  by  Don  Antonio  [Hurtado] 

de  Mendoza,  102;?,  paraphrased  in  English,  anno  1654,'  by  Sir 
R.  Fanshawe,  'during  his  conflnemcnt  to  Tankersly  Park  in 
Yorkshire,  by  Oliver,  after  the  battle  of  Worcester,  in  which 
he  was  taken  prisoner,  serving  Ills  Majesty    (whom  God  pre- 


480  NOTES 

serve)    as   Secretary   of   State.'     Printed   London    1671.     4to. 

"Bishop  Percy  thinks  the  passage  had  in  view  is  this,  in 
act  I,   p.   20. 

"Felisbravo,  the  young  king  of  Persia,  traveling  in  search 
of  Zelidaura,  Queen  of  Tartaria  (whom,  it  seems,  he  had 
never  seen)  retires  into  a  wood  to  shun  the  noontide  heat, 
and  taking  out  his  mistress's  picture,  thus  rants : 

"Fel.     If  sleep  invade  me  strongly,  that  may  sever 

My  life  some  minutes  from  me,  my  love  never. 

But   'tis  impossible  to  sleep,   we  know. 

Extended  on  the  rack :  if  that  be  so, 

[Takes  out  the  picture. 

Dumb  larum,  come  thou  forth  ;  eloquent  mute. 

For  whom  high  heav'n  and  earth  commence  a  suit ; 

O  angel-woman,  fair  hermaphrodite ! 

The  moon's  extinguisher  !    the  noonday's  night ! 

How  could  so  small  a  sphere  hold  so  much  day? 

0  sleep  !  now,  now,  thou  conquer'st  me — but  stay  : 
That  part  thou  conquer'st,  I'll  not  own  for  mine. 
Tempest  I  seek,  not  calm  :  if  the  day's  thine, 
Thou  quell'st  my  body,  my  love  still  is  whole  : 

1  give  thee  all  of  that  which  is  not  soul. 

And,  since  in  lodgings  from  the  street  Love  lies. 
Do  thou,  and  spare  not,   quarter  in  my  eyes 
A  while ;   I,  harb'ring  so  unwelcome  guest 
(As   men   obey   thy   brother   Death's   arrest) 
Not  as  a  lover,  but  a  mortal — 

[He  falls  asleep  icith  the  picture  in  his  hand. 
Ris.     He's   fall'n   asleep,   so  soon?     What  frailty   is? 
More  like  a  husband  then  a  lover,  this. 
If  lovers  take  such  sleeps,  what  shall  I  take. 
Whom  pangs  of  love,  nor  honor's  trumpets  wake? 

[Risaloro  falls  asleep." 
[Arber.] 
In  line  7  of  the  verse.  Professor  Arber,  apparently  following 
the  original  edition,   reads  Of  Angel-woman,  and,  in  the  next 
line.   Moon-days. 
13.     That's   a   general   rule.     Boabdelin    and   Lyndaraxa   observe   this 
rule  in   The  Conquest  of  Granada,  64,  120;  111.   1.36. 

"This  rule  is  most  exactly  observed  in  Dryden's  Indian 
Emperor,  act  IV,  scene  iv  (Ss.  ii.  386).  Upon  a  sudden  and 
unexpected  misfortune,  Almeria  thus  expresses  her  surprise 
and  concern  : 

All   hopes  of   safety  and  of  love  arc  gone  : 
As  when  some  dreadful   thunderclap   is   nigh. 
The  winged  fire  shoots  swiftly  thro'  the  sky. 
Strikes  and   consumes,   ere  scarce  it  does  appear. 
And  by  the  sudden  ill.  prevents  the  fear  : 
Such   is  my  state  in  this  amazing  woe. 
It  leaves  no  pow'r  to  think,  much  less  to  do." 
Bishop  Percy.     [Aeber.] 
15.     As  some  tall  pine,  etc.     Cf.   64,   129-135.      [K.] 
22.     Dry  my  tears.     After  these  words  Q3  adds  the  following  passage: 


NOTES  481 

•  Johns.  Mr.  Bayes,  mothinks  this  simile  wants  a  little  appli- 
cation too. 
Bayes.  No,  faith  ;  for  it  alludes  to  passion,  to  consuming,  to 
dying,  and  all  that ;  which,  you  know,  are  the  natural 
effects  of  an  amour.  But  I'm  afraid  this  scene  has  made 
you  sad,  etc. 
400,     27.     It  is  resoU'd.     Q3  here  adds :    "Bayes.     That's  all." 

4.     With  a  pipe  of  tohaceo,  etc.     Q3  here  substitutes  :  "with  a  snuff- 
box in  my  hand,  and  then  I  feague  it  away,  i'faith."      (Fcague 
=  beat,  drive.)     Cf.  n.  398,  85. 
7.     The  (jrand  question  is,  etc.     In  Q.3  this  speech  is  expanded  into 
the   following   dialogue  : 
Ush.     The  grand  question  is,  whether  they  heard  us  whisper  : 

which  I  divide  thus. 
Phys.     Yes,   it  must  be  divided  so  indeed. 

Smi.  That's  very  complaisant,  I  swear,  Mr.  Bayes,  to  be  of 
another  man's  opinion,  before  he  knows  what  it  is. 

Bayes.  Nay,  I  bring  in  none,  here,  but  well-bred  persons,  I 
assure    you. 

Ush.  I  divided  the  question  into  when  they  heard,  what 
they  heard,  and  whether  they  heard  or  no. 

The  whole  passage  ridicules  Dryden's  fondness  for  scholastic 
logic.     Cf.  416,  17  ;    348,  161,  n. 
16.     Yes,  you  have  it  right,  etc.     In  Q3  this  speech  also  is  expanded 
into   a   dialogue  : 
Bayes.     Aye,  you  have  it  right :  they  are  both  politicians. 

Ush.     Pray   then   to   proceed   in   method;   let   me  ask  you   that 

question. 
Phys.     No,  you'll  answer  better;   pray  let   me  ask  it  you. 
Ush.     Your  will  must  be  a  law. 
Phys.     Come   then,  what  is  it  I   must  ask? 

Sini.     This    politician,    I    perceive,    Mr.    Bayes,    has    somewhat 

a  short  memory. 
Bayes.     Why,    sir,    you    must    know    that    t'other    is    the    main 

politician,  and  this  is  but  his  pupil. 

Ush.     You   must  ask   me  whether   they  heard  us  whisper. 
Phys.     Well,   I   do  so. 
Ush.     Say  it  then. 

Smi.     Iley  day!  here's  the  bravest  work  Ihat  ever  I  saw. 
Johns.     This   is   mighty    methodical  ! 

Bayes.  Aye,  sir,  that's  the  way  :  't  is  the  way  of  art ;  there 
is  no  other  way,  i'  gad,  in  business. 

Phys.     Did  tbey  hear  us  whisper? 

JJah.  Why,  truly,  I  can't  tell  ;  there's  much  to  be  said  upon 
the  word  whisper.  To  whisper  in  Latin  is  susurrare, 
which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  to  speak  softly ;  now,  if 
they  heard  ps  speak  softly,  they  beard  us  whisper  :  but 
then  cumes  in  the  quomodo,  the  how  ;  how  did  they  bear 
us  whisper?     Why,   as   to   that,   there   are    two   ways:   the 


482  NOTES 

one,  by   chance,   or  accident ;   the   other,   on   purpose,   that 

is,   with  design   to  hear  us  whisper. 
rityn.     Nay,   If   they   heard   us   that  way,   I'll   never  give   'em 

physic  more. 
Ush.     Nor  I  e'er  more  will  walk  abroad  before  'em. 

Baycs.     Pray    mark    this,    for    a    great    deal    depend [s]    upon 

it,   towards   the  latter  end   of  the  play. 
Smi.     I   suppose,   that's   the    reason    why   you   brought   in   this 

scene,  Mr.  Bayes. 
Bayes.     Partly    it    was,    sir ;    but,    I    confess,    I    was   not   un- 
willing,  besides,    to   shew   the  world   a  pattern,   here,   how 
men   should   talk   of   business. 
401,     19.     Exceeding.     So  Ql  ;    Arber  prints  exceedingly. 

30.  There's  now  an  odd  surprise,  etc.  "Such  easy  turns  of  state 
are  frequent  in  our  modern  plays,  where  we  see  princes  de- 
throned, and  governments  changed,  by  very  feeble  means,  and 
on  slight  occasions ;  particularly  in  Marriage  a  la  Mode,  a  play 
writ  since  the  first  publication  of  this  farce.  Where  (to  pass 
by  the  dullness  of  the  state  part,  the  obscurity  of  the  comic, 
the  near  resemblance  Leonidas  bears  to  our  Prince  Pretty- 
man,  being  sometime[s]  a  king's  son,  sometimes  a  shepherd's; 
and  not  to  question  how  Amalthea  comes  to  be  a  princess, 
her  brother,  the  king's  great  favorite,  being  but  a  lord)  't  is 
worth  our  while  to  observe  how  easily  the  fierce  and  jealous 
usurper  is  deposed,  and  the  right  heir  placed  on  the  throne : 
as  it  is  thus  related  by  the  said  imaginary  princess : 

[Here  there  follows  a  quotation  from  Marriage  a  la  Mode, 
215,    lOG-415.] 

"This  shows  Mr.  Bayes  to  be  a  man  of  constancy,  and  firm 
to  his  resolution,  and  not  to  be  laughed  out  of  his  own 
method,  agreeable  to  what  he  says  in  the  nest  act,  'As  long 
as  I  know  my  things  are  good,  what  care  I  what  they  say?'" 
Key,  1704  ;  cf.  404,  77,  78,  n.  The  usurpation  and  subsequent 
loss  of  power  of  Abdalla,  in  The  Conquest  of  Granada,  are 
almost  as  "easy  turns  of  state"  as  that  mentioned  in  Marriage 
a  la  Mode. 

The  notes   to   the    1701   edition   also   identify  Leonidas  and 
Prince    Pretty-man.     Their    resemblance    makes    it    practically 
certain    that    the    author    of    The    Rehearsal    was    acquainted 
with  Marriage  a  la  Mode;  cf.  Introduction,  pp.  xxxiii,  sxxiv. 
36.     /  knoio  not  what  to  do,  nor  xchat  to  say. 

(a)  Ormasdes.     I  know  not  what  to  say,  nor  what  to  think ! 
I  know  not  Avhen  I  sleep,  or  when  I  wake  ! 

Sir  William  Killigrew,  Ormasdes;  or.  Lore  and  Friend- 
ship, 1666,  act  V. 

(b)  Cleareus.     I   know  not  what   to  resolve,  nor  what  to  say. 
Sir  William  Killigrew,  Pandora;  or.  The  Concerts,  166G, 

act  V. 

(c)  Pandora.     My  doubts  and  fears   my   reason  does  dismay, 
I  know  not  what  to  do.  nor  what  to  say. 

IMd,  act  V.  [K.] 

After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the  following  passage ; 


NOTES  483 

Johns.     Mr.     Bayes,     in     my    opinion,    now,    that    gentleman 

might  have  said  a  little  more  upon  this  occasion. 
Bayes.     No,  sir,  not  at  all  ;  for  I   iinderwrit  his  part,  on  pur- 
pose to  set  off  the  rest. 
Johns.     Cry  you  mercy,   sir. 
40)e,        8.     Effaut.     The  old  name  for  the  note  F. 
14.     Harry  the  Eight.     Cf.  418,  4,  n. 

25.     /  have  broke  my  nose.     This  incident  is  a  survival  of  an  earlier 
draft    of    TIte    Rehearsal,    of    which    Davenant    was    the    hero. 
Davenant's  loss   of  his   nose   was   a   subject   of   satire   at  the 
time.     See  Introduction,  p.  xxxi,  n.  2. 
35.     Like  horsemen.     After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the  following  line  : 
iSwi77i.     Like    horsemen!   what  a   plague   can   that  be? 
6.     Sir,   all   my  fancies,  etc.     The   following   passage,   as   far   as    the 
entrance    of    Prince    Pretty-man,    appears    in    a    considerably 
altered  form  in  Q3  : 

Bayes.  Sir.  all  my  fancies  are  so.  I  tread  upon  no  man's 
heels,  but  make  my  flight  upon  my  own  wings,  1  assure  you. 
Now,  here  comes  in  a  scene  of  sheer  wit,  without  any  mix- 
ture in  the  whole  world,  i  'gad,  between  Prince  Pretty-man 
and  his  tailor  :  it  might  properly  enough  be  eall'd  a  prize 
[i.  e.  prize-fight]  of  wit,  for  you  shall  see  'em  come  in  upon 
one  another  snip  snap,  hit  for  hit,  as  fast  as  can  be.  First 
one  speaks  ;  then  presently  t'  other's  upon  him,  slap,  with 
a  repartee  ;  then  he  at  him  again,  dash  with  a  new  conceit ; 
and  so  eternally,  eternally,  1'  gad,  till  they  go  quite  ofif  the 
stage. 

[Goes  to  call  the  players. 
Smi.     What   a   plague   does   this   fop   mean   by  his  snip  snap, 

hit  for  hit,  and  dash? 
Johns.     Mean!  why,  he  never  meant  anything  in  's  life:  what 
dost   talk   of   meaning   for? 
Enter  Bayes. 
Bayes.     Why  don't  you  come  in? 

Enter  Prince  Pretty-man  and  Tom  Thimble. 

This   scene   will    make   you   die   with   laughing,    if   it   be  well 
acted,  for  't  is  as  full  of  drollery  as  ever  it  can  hold.     'Tis 
like  an  orange  stuli'd  with  cloves,  as  for  conceit. 
Pret.     But  pr'ythee,  etc. 
40S),      14.     Prince   Pretty-man,   and    Tom    Thimble.     "Failer   and    Bibber   his 
tailor    in    The     Wild    Gallant."     Key,    1704.     See    The    Wild 
Gallant,  I.  i   (Ss.  ii.  i'..">-;j7). 
29.     Want.     Lack. 

42.  Pin  sure,  etc.  "Nay,  if  that  be  all,  there's  no  such  haste  :  the 
courtiers  are  not  so  forward  to  pay  their  debts."  The  Wild 
Gallant,   I.  ii    (Ss.  ii.   46).      [K.] 

Clothes.     Ql  reads  cluath;    Q3  and  Qti  read  cinaths. 
404,      45.      Why,  Tom,  etc.     After  this  speech  Q3  inserts  the  following  : 

Bayes.     There's  pay  upon  pay !  as  good  as  ever  was  written, 
i'  gad  ! 
53.     He    does    not    top    his    part.     "A    great    word    with    Mr.    Edward 

Howard."     Key,  1704. 
56.     An  angel  fur  the  king's  evil.     A  gold   coin  hung  about   the  neck 
as  a  charm  against  scrofula.     Cf.  353,  75,  n. 


484  NOTES 


1 1 . 


^y|lat  care  I  iPhat  they  say?  "Referring  to  Mr.  Dryden's  obsti- 
nate adherence  to  some  things  in  his  plays,  in  opposition  to 
the  sound  judgment  of  all  unprejudiced  critics.  See  an  in- 
stance of  this  noticed  in  the  note  [to  401,  30]."  Notes, 
1775. 

Dryden  was  really  sensitive  to  the  criticism  of  men  whoso 
judgment  he  respected.  See  for  instance  his  relations  with  Rymer 
(Introduction,  pp.  xliii-xlvi)  and  his  tribute  to  Sir  George 
Mackenzie   (Introduction,  p.  xlii). 

After  they  sayf     Q.3  expands   the  text  as  follows  : 

What,  are  they  gone,  without  singing  my  last  new  song? 
'S  bud,  would  it  were  in  their  bellies.  I'll  tell  you,  Mr. 
Johnson,  if  I  have  any  skill  in  these  matters,  I  vow  to  gad 
this  song  is  peremptorily  the  very  best  that  ever  yet  was 
written :  you  must  know,  it  was  made  by  Tom  Thimble's 
first  wife  after  she  was  dead. 
Smi.  How,  sir,  after  she  was  dead? 
Bayes.     Aye,   sir,  after  she   was  dead.     Why,  what  have   you 

to  say  to  that? 
Johns.     Say?     Why,  nothing:  he  were  a  devil  that  had  any- 
thing to  say  to  that. 
Bayes.     Right. 

Smi.     How  did  she  come  to  die,  pray,  sir? 
Bayes.     Phoo !    that's   no    matter ;    by   a   fall :   but   here's   the 
conceit,   that  upon  his  knowing  she  was  kill'd  by  an  acci- 
dent, he  supposes,  with  a  sigh,   that  she  died  for  love  of 
him. 
Johns.     Aye,  aye,  that's  well  enough  :    let's  hear  it,  Mr.  Bayes. 
Bayes.     'Tis  to  the  tune  of  :   "Farewell,  fair  Armida,  on  seas, 
and  in  battles,  in  bullets,"  and  all  that. 

SONG 

In  swords,   pikes,   and  bullets,   'tis  safer  to  be, 

Than  in  a  strong  castle,  remoted  from  thee  : 

My  death's  bruise  pray  think  you  gave  me,   tho'  a  fall 

Did  give  it  me  more,  from  the  top  of  a  wall ; 

For   then   if   the   moat  on   her   mud   would   first   lay, 

And  after  before  you  my  body  convey. 

The  blue  on  my  breast  when  you  happen  to  see. 

You'll  say,  with  a  sigh,  there's  a  true  blue  for  me. 

Ha,    rogues !    when    I    am    merry,    I    write    these    things    as 
fast  as  hops,  i'gad ;  for,  you  must  know,  I  am  as  pleasant  a 
debauchee  as  ever  you  saw  ;    I  am,  i'faith. 
Smi.     But,    Mr.    Bayes,    how    comes    this    song    in    here?    for, 

methinks,  there  is  no  great  occasion  for  it. 
Bayes.     Alack,   sir,   you   know   nothing ;    you   must  ever  inter- 
lard   your    plays    with    songs,    ghosts,    and    dances,    if   you 
mean  to — a — 

On  this  song  the  Key  of  1704  gives  the  following  note : 
"In  swordSj  pikes,  and  bullets,  etc.     In  igiitation  of  this: 

"On  seas,  and  in  battles,  thro'  bullets  and  fire, 
The  danger  is  less  than  in  hopeless  desire ; 


NOTES  485 

My  death's  wound  you  gave  me,  the'  far  off  I  bear 
My  fall  from  your  sight,  not  to  cost  you  a  tear  ; 
But   if   the   kind  Hood   on   a   wave   would   convey, 
And  under  your  window  my  body  would  lay ; 
When  the  wound  on  my  breast  you  happen  to  see, 
You'll  say,  with  a  sigh  :  'It  was  given  by  me.' 

"This  is  the  latter  part  of  a  song  made  by  Mr.  Bayes  on 
the  death  of  Captain  Digby,  son  of  George,  Earl  of  Bristol, 
who  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  the  Duchess  Dowager  of 
Richmond,  called  by  the  author  Armida  :  he  lost  his  life  in 
a  sea-fight  against  the  Dutch,  the  28th  of  May,  1G72." 

The  song  parodied,  and  an  answer  to  it  in  the  same  meter, 
occur,  without  indication  of  authorship,  in  two  miscellanies 
published  in  1672,  Covent  Garden  Drollery  and  Xew  Court 
Songs  and  Poems,  by  R.  V.  Gent.  They  have  been  assigned  to 
Dryden  on  the  somewhat  scanty  evidence  of  this  passage  in 
The  Rehearsal.  Covent  Garden  Drollery  gives  the  name  as 
Arminda,  and  Xew  Court  Songs  as  Arnieda.  The  second  stanza 
is  as  quoted  above,  with  some  small  variations  of  text. 
82.  Pit,  box,  and  gallery.  Cf.  390,  61,  62,  n. 
405,       9.     My  lieges,  etc. 

Alberto.     Curtius,  I've  something  to  deliver  to  your  ears. 

[Whispers. 
Curtius.     Anything  from  Alberto  is  welcome. 
A.  Behn,  The  Amorous  Prince,  III.  ii.      [K.] 
400,      41.     Shy  maid.     This  speech  is  arranged  as  prose  in  Qq. 

49.     Indeed,  etc.     This  speech  and   the  following  are  omitted  in  Q3. 
55.     Villain,    etc.     In    illustration    of    this    passage    Professor    Arber 
cites  the  following  from  Sir  R.  Stapylton,  The  Slighted  Maid, 
1663,  act  iii,  pp.  46,   47  : 

Decio.     Now  you  shall  tell  me  who  play'd  at  cards  with  you. 

Pyramena.     None  but  ray  Lord  Iberio  and  I  play'd. 

Dec.     Who   waited? 

Py.     Nobody. 

Dec.     No    page  ? 

Py.     No  page. 

Dec.     No  groom? 

Py.     No  groom  ;    I  tell  you  nobody. 

Dec.     What,   not   your   woman? 

/'(/.     Not  my   woman,   lack 

IIow  your  tongue  runs  ! 

The   passage   ridiculed  is  more  likely   Marriage  d   la   Mode, 
162,  lCf3,  328-342. 
70.     Mark,   etc.      In   Q3   this   speech   reads :      "Mark   how    I    make   the 
horror    of    his    guilt    confound    his    intellects,    for   he's    out   at 
one  and  t'  other  ;  and  that's  the  design  of  this  scene." 

407,  76.      M'hy  when,  I  say.     When,  as  often  in  Shakspere,  is  here  rather 

an  exclamation  of  impatience  than  a  real  interrogative. 
89.      Ihing  in  my  father,  etc.     v.  n.  401,  30;    cf.   1S<S.  ."?04-397. 

408,  146.     Enter   Prince    Volscius,   etc.     The    following    passage    parodies    a 

scene   (act  IV,   sc.   11)    of  The  English   Muunsiciir,  by  the  Hon. 


486  NOTES 


James  Howard,  1674,  of  which  a  considerable  portion  is  here 

reproduced  : 

Enter  Comely  in  a  riding  garb,  with  his  servant. 

Comely.  Let  my  horses  be  brought  ready  to  the  door,  for 
I'll  go  out  of  town  this  evening.  [Exit  servant. 

Enter  Welbukd. 

Wei.     Why,  how  now  Comely,  booted  and  spurr'd? 

Comely.     Marry,  am  I. 

Wei.     For  how  long? 

Comely.     Why,  for  this  seven  years,  for  aught  I  know ;  I  am 

weary  of  this  town  and  all  that's  in  't :  as  for  women,   I 

am   in   love   with   none,   nor   never   shall  ;    I   find    I    have   a 

pretty   strong   defense   about  my   heart  against  that   folly. 

O,  here  comes  the  ladies  very  opportunely  for  me 

Enter  Lady  Wealthy  and  two  other  ladies. 
to  take  my  leave  of  'em. 

L.  Weal.     Mr.  Comely,  your  servant — what,  in  a  riding  garb? 

Comely.     A  dress   fitting  for  a  country  journey,   madam. 

L.  Weal.     Why,  can  you  ever  leave  this  town? 

Comely.     That   I    can   truly,    madam,    within   this   hour. 

L.   Weal.     I    can't   believe   it. 

Comely.  Were't  not  uncivil  to  get  up  a'  horseback  before 
you,  I  would  convince  you  straight :  nay,  I  did  think  I 
should  be  wonder'd  at  by  you  all,  as  much  as  an  owl  is 
amongst  birds.  Very  like  now  if  I  were  in  love  with  any 
one  of  you  three,  tho'  I  were  on  horseback,  a  kind  look 
might  dismount  me  again  ;  but  I  thank  fate  I  ne'er  had 
that  perpetration  of  the  heart ;  yet  a  disease,  as  malignant 
and  as  catching  as  the  plague — and  reigns  as  the  plague 
does,  altogether  in  London.  So  that  for  my  future  health  I'll 
retire  into  the  country  for  air,  and  there  hunt  and  hawk, 
eat  and  drink  so  sound,  that  I  will  never  dream  of  a 
woman,  or  any  part  about  her. — This  resolution  of  mine 
has  made  me  turn  poet ;  therefore,  before  I  go,  you  shall 
hear  a  song  call'd  my  farewell  to  London  and  women. 
Boy,  sing  the  song. 

THE  SONG 

I. 
Ladies,   farewell,   I    must   retire, 
Tho'  I  your  faces  all  admire. 

And   think  you  heavens  in  your  kinds, 
Some  for  beauties,  some  for  minds  : 
If  I  stay,  and  fall  in  love, 
One  of  these  heavens  hell   would  prove. 
II. 

Could   I   know   one,   and   she  not  know   it. 
Perhaps    I    then    might    undergo    it ! 

But  if  the  least  she  guess  my  mind, 

Straight   in   a   circle    I'm   confln'd : 
By  this  I  see,  who  once  doth  dote, 
Must   wear    a    woman's    livery   coat. 


NOTES  487 

III. 

Therefore  this  danger  to  prevent, 
And  still  to  keep  my   heart's  content. 

Into  the  country  I'll  with  speed. 

With  hounds  and  hawks  my  fancy  feed ! 
Both   safer  pleasures  to  pursue. 
Then  staying   to  converse   with   you. 

L.  Weal.  Now,  Mr.  Comely,  would  I  give  the  world  to  see 
you  soundly  in  love  after  this  farewell  song  of  yours  to 
all  women ;  I  have  heard  the  healthiest  persons,  when 
once  they  fall  into  a  fever,  are  most  distemper'd. 

Comely.  Lady,  faith  you'll  never  see  me  so ;  perhaps  you 
may  hear,  when  I  am  in  the  country,  that  I  am  in  love 
with  my  hounds  if  they  run  well ;  but  as  for  falling  in 
love  with  woman,  whenever  I  do  I'll  sell  all  my  estate  and 
purchase  Bedlam  to  have  it  to  myself,  for  'twill  be  a  house 
fit  for  no  other  kind  of  madmen. 

Comely.     Now  I'll  away  ;    a  country  lite 

Shall  be  my  mistress  and  my  wife. 

iHe's  yoing  off  in  haste,  and  meets  William,  o 

clown,  and  Elsbeth  Pritty,  aiid  stops. 

William.     Pray,  gentleman.  Is  not  this  the  place  where  the  king 

and  the  queen  do  walk?    Thou  art  the  first  man  Elsbeth  and 

I  have  met  with  since  we  came  to  this  huge  town,  that  wear 

boots  like  our  gentlemen  in  Wiltshire. 

Comely.     And  did  you  two  come  to  town  only  to  see  the  king 

and  queen? 
M'iUiam.     No,  no,  we  came  about  this  maiden's  vather's  will. 
Comely.     And  what's  this  maid's  name? 

William.     Wouse,  man,  one  would  a'  thought  thou  hadst  been 
a    better    schollard    then    to    have    ask'd    her    name    before 
mine. 
Comely.     Cry   mercy,   friend,   what's   thy  name? 
M'illiam.     Friend    dost    call    me?     How    canst    tell    I'm    thy 
friend  before  thou   know'st  my  name:     I  am  call'd   [Wil- 
liam] by  all  the  folk  that  know  me  in  Wiltshire. 
Comely.     Honest  William,  then,   what's  this  damsel's  name? 
William.     Why,  her  cursen  name  is  Elsba  ;  her  next  name  to 

that,  I  wouse,  is  Pritty. 
Comely.      [Aside.]      By  all   the  charms  of  beauty,  a  name  as 
fit  for  her,  as  if  Nature  had  chrlsten'd  her,  and  were  her 
godmother  as  well  as  mother. 

Enter  Servant. 

Servant.  Sir,  'twill  be  too  late  for  your  worship  to  go  out 
of   town    to-nif-'ht. 

Comely.  I  think  so  too,  set  up  my  horses  :  what  sudden  fate 
hath  chang'd  my  mind  !  I  feel  my  heart  so  restless  now 
as  if  it  ne'er  knew  rest.  Sure  I'm  in  love ;  yet  how  I 
should  find  that  who  never  was  before  I  A  man  that's 
sick  of  a  disease  he  never  had,  knows  not  what  'tis  til! 
the  physician   proves  it ;  yet  I'm  acquainted  with  my  new 


488  NOTES 

distemper,  as  if  I  had  lingcr'd  in  't  this  twelve  months. 
How  finely  shall  I  be  laugh'd  at  now,  if  the  cause  of  my 
staying  in  town  be  once  discover'd ;  I  that  have  taken  the 
liberty  all  my  lifetime  to  jeer  at  people's  being  in 
love.  [K.] 
159.     That  you   iiill  here,  etc.     Luttrell  cites: 

And  leaves  poor  mo  defenseless  here  alone. 
The  Indian  Emperor,  V.  il   (Ss.  ii.  405). 
400,    1S5.     Parthenope  she  calls.     After  these  words  Q3  adds  the  following : 
Hayes.     Now,  that's  the  Parthenope  I  told  you  of. 
Johns.     Aye,  aye,  i'  gad  you  are  very  right. 
187.     Thou,  hring'st  the  morning  pictur'd  in  a  cloud. 

Mustapha.     I  bring  the  morning  pictur'd  in  a  cloud. 

Davexant,  The  Siege  of  Rhodes,  Part  I,  entry  ii.      [K.] 
Mustapha  is  bringing  in  the  fair  lanthe,  veiled ;  hence  his 
"conceit." 
193.     Prince    Volscius   in   love? 

Comely.     Come,  come,  you  all  know  me  well  enough,  and  yet 

I  tell  you,  I  am  plaguily  alter'd  since  you  saw  me  last. 
L.  ^Yeal.     Why,  what's  the  matter? 
Comely.     I  am,  a  pox  on  't ! — I  am,  a  plague  on  't ! — I  am  in 

love. 
L.  ^Veal.     In  love! — what,  Mr.  Comely,  in  love? 
Comely.     Nay,  nay,  nay,  come  begin  the  laugh,  and  let  it  not 
last  above  three   hours;     that's  all   I   ask.      [They  laugh  a 
great  while.]     Well,  have  you  done? 
All  ladies.     No,  not  by  a  great  deal.  [They  laugh  on. 

Comely.     I  must  have  patience  till  you  have. 

L.  Weal.     I  warrant  'tis  some  mimping  country  gentlewoman. 
Comely.     No,   'tis  a  country  farmer's  daughter. 

James  Howard,  The  English  Mounsieur,  IV.  ii.    [K.] 
198.     O,   I   did   not,   etc.     Q3   expands   this   speech  into   the   following 
dialogue : 

Smi.     Well,  and  where  lies  the  jest  of  that? 
Bayes.     Ha?  [Turns  to  Johnson. 

Johns.     Why,  in  the  boots:  where  should  the  jest  lie? 
Bayes.     V  gad,  you  are  in  the  right:    it  does   [turns  to  Smith] 
lie  in  the  boots. — Your  friend  and  I   know  where  a  good 
jest  lies,  tho'  you  don't,  sir. 
Smi.     Much  good  do  't  you,  sir. 

Bayes.     Here,  now,  Mr.  Johnson,  you  shall  see  a  combat,  etc. 
200.     An   ancient  author,  etc.     "Sir   William   Davenant's   play  of  Love 
and  Honor."     Key,  1704.     See  Introduction,  p.  xvi. 
410,  201.     Volscius    sits    down.      Q3    expands    this    into :      "Volscius    sits 
doicn  to  pull  on  his  boots;  Bayes  stands  by  and  overacts  the 
part  as   he  speaks   it."     Q3   also   makes   the    interruption   by 
Johnson    and    Smith    fall    after    the    fourth    line    of    Volscius's 
speech   and   changes  the  next  stage  direction   to :     "Goes   out 
hopping  with  one  hoot  on  and  the  other  off." 
215.     "Qo  on,"  cries  Honor,  etc.     "But  Honor  says  not  so." 

Davenant,  The  Siege  of  Rhodes,  Part  I,  entry  ili.      [K.] 
Professor  Arber,  probably  following  Bishop  Percy,  cites  the 


NOTES  489 

following  closer  parallels,  of  which  the  editor  has  been  able  to 
verify  only  the  second  : 

(a)  J'elishraro. 

Love  and  Honor  pull  two  ways; 

And  I  stand  doubtful  which  to  take : 
"To  Arabia,"  Honor  says; 

Love  says  :  "No,  thy  stay  here  make." 
SiK    R.    Fan.siiawe,   Translation    of    Querer   por   solo    Querer. 
Cf.   n.  39!*,  48. 

(b)  Enter   I'ALLADILS  softUj,  reading  two  letters. 
Pall.     1  stand  betwixt  two  minds  I  what's  best  to  do? 

This  bids  me  stay,   this  spurs  me  on  to  go. 

Once    more    let    our    impartial    eyes    peruse 

Both  t'  one  and  t'  other  :  both  may  not  prevail. 
My  Lord, 

Prize  not  your  honor  so  much  as  to  disprize  her  that 
honors  you,  in  choosing  rather  to  meet  death  in  the  field  then 
Pulchrella  iti  her  desires.  Give  my  affection  leave  once  more 
to  dissuade  you  from  trying  conquest  with  so  unequal  a  foe; 
or  if  a  combat  must  be  tried,  make  a  bed  of  roses  the  field, 
and  me  your  enemy.  The  interest  I  claim  in  you  is  sufficient 
ivarrant  to  my  desires,  ivhich  according  to  the  place  they 
find  in  your  respects,  confirm  me  either  the  happiest  of  all 
ladies,  or  make  me  the  most  unfortunate  of  all   women. 

PL'LCUBELLA. 

A  charm  too  strong  for  honor  to  repress. 

AIus.     A  heart   too  poor  for  honor   to  possess. 

Pall.     Honor   must   stoop   to   vows. — But   what   says   this? 
[Reads  the  other  letter.] 
My  Lord, 

The  hand  that  guides  this  pen,  being  guided  by  the  ambi- 
tion of  your  honor  and  my  own  affection,  presents  i/ou  with 
the  wishes  of  a  faithful  servant,  ivho  desires  not  to  buy  your 
safety  with  the  hazard  of  your  reputation.  Go  on  with  cour- 
age, and  know,  Pantheu  shall  pertake  with  you  in  either 
fortune:  if  conquer'd,  my  heart  shall  he  your  monument,  to 
preserve  and  glorify  your  honor'd  ashes;  if  a  conqueror,  my 
tongue  shall  be  your  herald  to  proclaim  you  the  champion  of 
our  SCI.  and  the  phanix  of  your  own;  honor'd  by  all,  equai'd 
by  few,  belov'd  by  none  more  dearly  then 

Your  own 

Pa.ntuea. 

I  sail  betwixt  two  rocks!     What  shall  I  do? 

What  marble  melts  not  if  Pulchrella  woo? 

Or  what  hard-hearted  car  can  be  so  dead, 

As  to  be  deaf,   if  fair  I'anthea  plead? 

Whom  shall  1  please?     Or  which  shall  I  refuse? 

Pulchrella  sues,  and   fair  Panthea  sues; 

I'ulchrella  melts  me  with  her  lovesick  tears. 

But   brave   Panthea   batters   down    my   ears 

With  love's  petar  ;  Pulcbrella's  breast  encloses 

A  soft  affection  wrapp'd  in   beds  of  roses, 

But  in  the  rare  I'anthea's  noble  lines 

True  worth  and  honor  with  affection  joins. 


490  ^OTfiS 

1  stand  even-balanc'd,  doubtfully  oppress'd 

Beneath  the  burthen  of  a  bivious  breast. 

When  I  peruse  my  sweet  Pulchrella's  tears, 

My  blood  grows  wanton,  and  I  plunge  in  fears ; 

But  when   I   read  divine  Panthea's   charms, 

1  turn  all  fiery,  and  I  grasp  for  arms. 

Who  ever  saw,  when  a  rude  blast  outbraves 

And  thwarts  the   swelling  tide,  how  the  proud  waves 

Rock    the   dronch'd   pinnace   on   the   sea-green   breast 

Of  frowning  Amphitrite,  who,   oppress'd 

Betwixt   two  lords,   not  knowing  which  V  obey. 

Remains  a  neuter  in  a  doubtful  way. 

So  toss'd  am  I,  bound  to  such  strait  confines. 

Betwixt   I'ulchrella's   and    Panthea's   lines  : 

Both  cannot  speed ;  but  one  that  must  prevail. 

I  stand  even-pois'd  ;    an  atom  turns  the  scale. 

F.  QuARLEs,  The  Virgin  Widotc,  act  III   (vol.  Ill,  pp. 
302,  303,  of  Grosart's  reprint). 
As   Quarles   died    in    1G44    and    his   play    was    published    in 

1649,  one  may  doubt  whether  the  author  of  The  Rehearsal  had 

it  in  mind  when  writing. 
22G.     Aye,  is  't  not,  etc.     Q3  expands  this  speech   of  Bayes  into  the 

following  passage : 

Bayes.  Aye,  is  't  not,  now,  i'gad,  ha?  For  to  go  off  hip  hop, 
hip  hop,  upon  this  occasion,  is  a  thousand  times  better 
than  any  conclusion  in   the  world,  i'gad. 

Johns.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bayes,  that  hip  hop  in  this  place,  as  you 
say,  does  a  very  great  deal. 

Bayes.  O,  all  in  all,  sir ;  they  are  these  little  things  that 
mar  or  set  you  off  a  play  :  as  I  remember  once,  in  a  play 
of  mine,  I  set  off  a  scene,  i'gad,  beyond  expectation,  only 
with  a  petticoat  and  the  bellyache. 

Smi.     Pray,   how  was  that,  sir? 

Bayes.  Why,  sir,  I  contriv'd  a  petticoat  to  be  brought  in 
upon  a  chair  (nobody  knew  how)  into  a  prince's  chamber, 
whose   father   was   not  to   see   it,   that   came    in  by   chance. 

Juhns.     God's  my  life,  that  was  a  notable  contrivance  indeed. 

Smi.  Aye,  but,  Mr.  Bayes,  how  could  you  contrive  the  belly- 
ache? 

Bayes.  The  easiest  1'  th'  world,  i'gad.  I'll  tell  you  how  :  1 
made  the  prince  sit  down  upon  the  petticoat,  no  more 
than  so,  and  pretended  to  his  father  that  he  had  just  then 
got  the  bellyache  :  whereupon  his  father  went  out  to  call 
a  physician,  and  his  man  ran  away  with  the  petticoat. 

Smi.     Well,  and  what  follow'd  upon  that? 

Bayes.     Nothing  ;  no  earthly  thing,  I  vow  to  gad. 

Johns.     O'  my  word,  Mr.   Bayes,  there  you  hit  it. 

Bayes.  Yes,  it  gave  a  world  of  content.  And  then  I  paid 
'em  away  besides,  for  it  made  'em  all  talk  bawdy  ;  ha,  ha, 
ha :  beastly,  downright  bawdry  upon  the  stage,  i'gad,  ha, 
ha.   ha ;  but  with  an  infinite  deal  of  wit,  that  I  must  say. 

Joints.  That,  aye  that,  we  know  well  enough,  can  never 
fail   you. 


NOTES  491 

bayea.     No,  I'gad,   can't  it.     Come,  bring  in  the  dance. 

[Ex^it  to  call  'em. 
Smi.     Now  the  dovil  take  thee  for  a  silly,  confident,  unnatural, 
fulsome  rogue. 

Enter  Bavks  and  I'laijcns. 
Baycs.     Pray    dance    well    before    these    gentlemen :    you    are 
commonly  so  lazy,  but  you  should  be  light  and  easy,  ta,  ta,  ta. 
[All  the  while  they  dance,  Bayes  puts  'em  out  with 
teaching   'em.] 
Well,  gentlemen,  you'll  see  this  dance,  if  I  am  not  deceiv'd, 
take   very    well   upon   the   stage,   when    they  are   perfect   in 
their  motions,  and  all   that. 

This  Insertion  ridicules  a  situation  at  the  beginning  of 
the  fourth  act  of  Dryden's  The  Assiynation,  which  was  acted 
in  1672  and  published  the  next  year.  If  we  substitute 
viaskiny-habit  for  petticoat,  the  description  here  given  of 
Dryden's   work   is   almost   literally    exact.      [K.] 

411,   253.     For  fame  and  reputation.     Q.3  reads  simply  for  reputation. 

5.  A  person  of  honor,  etc.  "Col.  Henry  Howard,  son  of  Thomas, 
Earl  of  Berkshire,  made  a  play  called  The  United  Kingdoms, 
which  began  with  a  funeral,  and  had  also  two  kings  in  it. 
This  gave  the  duke  a  just  occasion  to  set  up  two  kings  iu 
Brentford,  as  t  is  generally  believed,  though  others  are  of 
opinion  that  his  grace  had  our  two  brothers  in  his  thoughts. 
It  was  acted  at  the  Cockpit  in  Drury  Lane,  soon  after  the 
Restoration ;  but  miscarrying  on  the  stage,  the  author  had 
the  modesty  not  to  print  it,  and  therefore  the  reader  cannot 
reasonably  expect  any  particular  passages  of  it.  Others  say 
that  they  are  Boabdelin  and  Abdalla,  the  two  contending 
kings  of  Granada."      IKey,  171)4. J 

In  a  note  on  the  next  scene  the  1701  edition  identifies  the 
two  usurpers  with  "the  two  kings  in  Granada." 
IG.     It  shall  drum,  etc.     "These  are  Mr.  Dryden's  words  in  his  preface 
to   The  Conquest  of  Granada.''     Notks,  1775. 

The  lines  would  do  for  a  parody  of  a  paragraph  in  Dry- 
den's Essay  of  Heroic  Plays;  v.  11,  1-15.  Felix  Lindner,  in 
his  edition  of  The  Rehearsal,  Heidelberg,  1904,  cites  the  fol- 
lowing note  from  an  eighteenth  century  key  that  depends 
mainly  on  Briscoe's :  "The  usual  language  of  the  Honorable 
Edward  Howard,  Esq.,  at  the  rehearsal  of  his  plays."  This 
seems  only  a  mistaken  repetition  of  the  note  on  3J>0,  (51,  G2. 
21.  The  rule  of  romance,  etc.  This  passage  is  a  slight  additional 
proof  of  the  close  relation  between  the  heroic  plays  and  the 
iutermiuahle  French  romances.     Cf.  Introduction,  pp.   xiv  f. 

27,  28.     And  therefore what  do  me  J.     Q3  expands  these  lines  as 

follows :  "And  then,  sir,  this  contrivance  of  mine  has  some- 
thing of  the  reason  of  a  play  in  it  too  ;  for  as  everyone  makes 
you  five  acts  to  one  play,  what  do  me  1,"  etc. 

On  this  speech  of  Bayes,  Arber  quotes  from  Bishop  I'ercy  : 
"This  is  intended  to  ridicule  the  absurd  custom  of  writing 
plays  in  several  parts,  as  The  t:>icge  of  Rhodes,  Parts  I  and 
II;  |Thonias|  Killigri'w's  Ilcllamira,  I  and  II;  Thoinaso,  I 
and    II;    Ciciliu    ninl    i'toi  inda,    1    and    II,    etc.;    but    is    prin- 


492  NOTES 

cipally  leveled  at  The  Conquest  of  Granada  in  two  parts; 
which  is  properly  but  one  play  of  ten  acts,  neither  the  plot 
nor  characters  being  complete  or  intelligible  in  either  without 
the  other."  A  note  to  the  1775  ed.  mentions  also  The  Indian 
Queen  and  its  sequel  The  Indian  Emperor;  see  Introduction, 
pp.  XX,  xxi. 
41>6,  39.  The  third  week.  According  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  the 
author  received  the  profits  of  the  third  day. 
44.     Which  may  be  executed  two  several  uays.     So  Q3 ;  Ql  reads  to 

in  place  of  two.     Cf.  423,  181,  n. 
49.     He  having  passionately  lov'd  her,  etc.     The  reference,  as  Bishop 
rercy    indicates,    is    doubtless    to    The    Conquest    of    Granada, 
115-118,    155-284.      In    the   play   Mr.    Bayes,   as   he   promises, 
has    taken    Mr.    Smith's    advice,    and    made    Almanzor    hinder 
Almahide    from    killing    herself.      The    passage    may    really    be 
inspired    by    some    of    Dryden's    conversation    about    his    own 
work. 
76.     A  lady  that  icas  drotcn'd  at  sea,  etc.     v.  114,  95-100.      [K.] 
413,     86.     Draiccansir.     A  parody  on  Almanzor.     Cf.  5,  21-43. 

124.     Since  death,  etc.     This  ridicules  a  speech  of  Berenice,  the  faith- 
ful  wife   of   the   tyrant   Maximin,   to   her   lover   Porphyrius,   in 
Dryden's    Tyrannic    Love,    act    III    (Ss.    ill.    418,    419).      The 
dialogue    is    so    fine    an    example    of    Restoration    tragic    virtue 
that   it   is   worth    quoting   entire  : 
Ber.     1  hate  this  tyrant,  and  his  bed  I  loathe  ; 
But,  once  submitting,  I  am  tied  to  both  : 
Tied  to  that  honor  which  all  women  owe, 
Tho'  not   their  husband's   person,   yet  their  vow. 
Something  so  sacred  in   that  bond  there  is, 
That  none  should  think  there  could  be  aught  amiss ; 
And  if  there  be,  we  should  in  silence  hide 
Those  faults,  which  blame  our  choice,  when  they  are  spied. 
Par.     But,  since  to  all  the  world  his  crimes  arc  known. 
And  by   himself  the  civil  war's  begun. 
Would  you  th'  advantage  of  the  fight  delay. 
If,  striking  first,  you   were  to  win  the  day? 
Ber.     I   would  like  Jews  upon  their  Sabbath  fall  ; 

And,  rather  than  strike  first,  not  strike  at  all. 
Por.     Against  yourself  you  sadly  prophesy  : 

You   either  this  divorce  must  seek,  or  die. 
Ber.     Then  death  from  all  my  griefs  shall  set  me  free. 
Por.     And  would  you   rather  choose  your  death,  than  me? 

Ber.     My  earthy  part 

Which   is   my   tyrant's  right,   death   will   remove; 
I'll  come  all  soul  and  spirit  to  your  love. 
With  silent  steps  I'll  follow  you  all  day; 
Or  else,  before  you,  in  the  sunbeams  play  : 
I'll   lead   you   thence  to  melancholy  groves. 
And  there  repeat  the  scenes  of  our  past  loves. 
At  night,  I  will  within  your  curtains  peep; 
With  empty   arms  embrace   you   while   you   sleep : 
In  gentle  dreams  I   often  will   be  by. 
And   sweep   along   before   your   closing  eye. 
All   dangers  from  your  bed   I  will   remove, 


NOTES  493 

But  guard  it  most  from  any  future  love; 
And  when  at  last,  in  pity,  you  will  die, 
I'll  watch  your  birth  of  immortality  : 
Then,   turtle-like,   I'll   to  my  mate  repair, 
And  teach  you  your  first  flight  in  open  air. 
[Exit   Berenice.]      [K.] 
Compare  also  5C,  419-426. 

414,  168.     NoiCj  it  's  out,  etc.     For  this  and  the  next  two  speeches  Q3  sub- 

stitutes the  following  passage  : 

Bayes.  So,  take  away  the  coffin.  Now  it's  out.  This  is  the 
very  funeral  of  the  fair  person  which  Volscius  sent  word 
was  dead  ;  and  i'allas,  you  see,  has  turn'd  it  into  a  banquet. 

8mi.     Well,    but   where  is   this  banquet? 

Bayes.  Nay,  look  you,  sir,  we  must  first  have  a  dance,  for 
joy  that  LardcIIa  is  not  dead.  Pray,  sir,  give  me  leave  to 
bring  in  my  things  properly  at  least. 

8mi.     That,  indeed,  I  had  forgot :    I  ask  your  pardon. 

Bayes.  O,  d'ye  so,  sir?  I  am  glad  you  will  confess  yourself 
once  in  an  error,  Mr.  Smith. 

Dance. 

415,  182.     That  shall  be  mine,  etc.     After  this  speech  of  Pallas  Q3  adds  the 

following  : 

Bayes.     There's  the   banquet.     Are   you   satisfied   now,   sir? 

Johns.     By    my    troth,    now.    that    is    new,    and    more    than    I 

expected. 
Bayes.     Yes,    I   knew   this  would   please  you,   for  the  chief  art 
in    Doetry   is    to   elevate   your   expectation,    and    then    bring 
you   off  some  extraordinary  way. 
183.     Lo,    from    this    conqiieiinij    lance,    etc.     This    speech    ridicules    a 
scene    (act   III,    sc.    v)    in    The    Villain,   a   tragedy  by   Thomas 
Porter,    first   published   in    1663.      The   play   is  a   poor   produc- 
tion, the  plot  of  which  is  in  some  ways  reminiscent  of  Othello. 
The    scene    here    satirized    is    practically    independent    of    the 
main    action.      The    following    quotation    (from    ed.    3,    16t)4) 
omits  only  the  final  half-page  and  a  few  coarse  lines. 

Enter  Host  and  his   Wikk. 
Host.     Nay,  prithee  weep  not,  chuck  :   I'll   warrant  thee 

There's  nobody  will  take  the  house  off  their  hands. 

Now  we  have  left  it. 
Wife.     But  what  an  inhuman  dog  to  turn  us  out. 

Just  when   these  blades  were  come  to  town  ! 

O  the  tearing  customers  we  should  have  had  I 
Host.     No  matter,  no  matter,  God's  precious. 

They    cannot    hinder    me    my    standing    on    the    king's 
ground. 

And   we  will   vent  our  merchandise  here. 

In  spite  of  their  noses:    set  down  the  table,  chuck; 

There,  there,  so,  lay  the  stools  under  it. 

Pox,  let's  be  merry  for  all  this,  chuck. 

Hang  sorrow,  care  will  kill  a  cat. 
Wife.     Truly.  husl)and.   I  believe  that's  the  reason 

Ours  died  this  morning. 
Host.     Away,    woman,    away '- 


494 


NOTES 


Sings. 

When  as  King  Pcppin  rul'd  in  France, 

A  king  of  wondrous  might, 
lie  that  could  the  coranto  dance, 
Was  straightways  made  a  Isnight. 
If  any  pass  this  way,   I'm  sure  they'll  stop, 
For  here's  man's  meat,  and  woman's  meat ; 
Thou  for  the  men,  and  I  for  the  women. 
At  the  sign  of  St.   Anthony's  pig. 
^Vifc.     But  why  have  you  chang'd  the  sign  we  had  before? 

St.  Lewis  is  as  much  respected  in  this  country. 
Host.     Aye,  but  you  know  the  prodigal  child  thrust  out  of 

Doors,   kept   company  with  pigs,   good  wife,   and  sows. 
Wife.     'Tis  true,  and  with  hogs,  good  husband,  and  hogs. 
Host.     Away,  thou  cockatrice :    peace,  here's  company. 
Enter   Coligni,   D'Elpeche,    Marianb,    Lamarch,    Francibel. 

Sings. 

Please  you,  monsieurs,  entertain 

The  damoisels  ye  bring ; 
Here's  cheer,  there  ne'er  was  such  in  Spain, 

And  wine  would  fox  a  king. 

Here's  capons  that  from  Bruges  came 

In  post  f6r  expedition. 
And  veal  so  white,  that  none  in  Gant 

Can  come  in   competition. 

Here's  sallet  mystic  savor  has, 

As  mystic  as  the  color ; 
A  lover  being  put  to  grass 

Pick'd  It  against  love's  dolor. 

Here's  vin  de  bon,  vin  de  Champagne, 

And  vin  de  Celestine, 
And  here  is  that  they  call  Bouru, 

Which  to  love's  sports  incline. 

Sa,  sa,  monsieurs,  what  have  you  a  mind  to? 
Col.     Odd's  my  life,  gentlemen,  here  is  the  bravest 
Fellow  I  ever  read  of  in  all  my  travels ; 
Pray,  friend,  what  show  do  you  represent? 
Host.     Show,   sir? 
Col.     Aye,  show,  sir;  does  that  offend  you?     Uds  fish, 
I  care  not  a  fart  an  you  be  offended  at  show,  sir. 
What  do  you  wear  that  in  your  hat  for,  sir, 
If  it  be  not  for  a  show,  sir,  ha? 
Host.     Why,  for  a  sign,  sir. 
Col.     For  a  sign?     Why,  are  you  the  post? 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha.  a  very  good  jest; 

Did  not  I  put  a  very  good  jest  upon  him.  gentlemen? 
Host.     Yes,   you   did,   a  very  good  jest ;   ha,   ha,  ha,    'twas  a 
very  good 
J^st  i'  faith,  gentlemen. 


NOTES 


195 


Col     Why  so  it  was,  sir,  for  all   your  sneering. 
Host.     Why,  so  i  thought,  sir ;  'tis  very  strange  you  will  be  so 
Angry  without  cause. 
Franc.     So,   so,   gentk-meu,   my  brother's   taken  up. 
D'Eip.     Aye,  aye,  let  him  alone,  let's  mark  'em. 

Col.     Why,  sir,  without  a  cause?     I  was  angry  at  something; 
1  was  angry  at  a  post,  and  there  you  have  it  again, 
Ha,  ba,  ha,  ha. 
Host.     I'm  glad  you  are  pleas'd  again, 

For  I  find  your  wits  riding  post,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha. 
Col.     A  pig,  a  pig,  ha,  ha,  ha. 
Host.     'Tis  the  sign  of  the  pig,  and  I'm  the  master  of  the 

Cabaret,   which  shall  give  you   most  excellent  content. 
Col.     Say'st  thou   so,   honest  fellow? 

Faith,  thou  art  a  very  merry  honest  fellow  ; 
Sisters,  I'll  treat  you  and  these  gentlemen 
At  this  cabaret  he  talks  of.     Prethee,  honest  friend, 
Where  is  this  cabaret?  for  I  long  to  be  in  a  cabaret. 
Host.     Why  here,  sir,  sit  down  at  this  table, 
And  call  for  what  you  will. 
D'Elp.     How's    this,    how's    this?      'Sdeath,    are    you    one    of 
Urganda's 
Squires?     Pray,  friend,  when  shall  the  meat 
And  wine  come? 
Lamar.     From  Tripoli  on  a  broomstick. 
Host.     I'ray,    gentlomfii,    binder    me    not    the    custom    of    the 
young  gallant ; 
Entreat  but   these   ladies  to  sit  down,   and  break   my 

head  if  you  be  not 
Well-treated — I'll  desire  no  favor. 
Col.     Nor  no  money  neither,   I  hope,  sir. 
Host.     Truly  I  won't ;  if  you  be  not  pleas'd  above  expectation. 
Ne'er  trust  one  again  of  my  profession. 
D'Elp.     Faith,  ladies,  this  may  prove  worth  our  curiosity; 
Come,  w'e  will  sit  down. 
Mar.     What  you  please,  sir. 
Col.     That's  my  good  sister  :  come,  come, 
La  convert,  la  convert. 
Lamar.     This  begins  to  look  like  something  :  he's  bravely  stuff'd, 
I'll  warrant  you,  he  is  so  well  hung. 
Col.     Now,  sir,  a  cold  breast  of  your  delicate  white  veal. 
Host.     Here  you  have  it,  sir. 

Col.     Nay,  nay,  and  a  sallet,  good  sir,  a  sallet. 
Host.     Well,  sir,  I  must  untruss  a  point. 
Col.     How,  sir,  to  give  us  a  sallet?     Why  have  you  been  at 
grass? 
D'Elp.     Why  d'ye  want  a  boil'd  sallet,   monsieur? 
Lamar.     Before    St.    Lewis,   an   excellent   trimming. 

I'll  ha'  my  next  suit,  that  I  go  into  the  campaign  with, 
Trimm'd  all  with  sausages. 
Mar.     'Twill  make  many  a  hungry  soldier  aim  at  you. 
Col.     Well   thought  on,   i'  faith,  sir. 

Come,  friend,  a  dish  of  sausages  ;  a  dish  of  sausages. 


49U 


NOTES 


Host. 

Franc. 
D'Elp. 

Host. 


B'Elp. 

Host. 
D'Elp. 

Col. 


Host. 


Col. 

Host. 

Col. 
Jlosi. 

Col. 


Host. 
Col. 

Host. 

D'Elp. 
Col. 


D'Elp. 

Col. 

Lamar. 

Franc. 

Mar. 

Col. 


Why  look  you,  sir,  this  gontleman  only  mistook 
The  placing  ;  these  do  better  in  a  belt. 
A  strange  fellow  this. 

Aye,  is  it  not?     Come,  sir,  wine  we  see  you  have: 
Prethee  let's  taste  the  best. 
That   you    shall,   sir. 
If  you'll  hear  music  and  a  song  with  't, 
I'm  ready  :  you  shall  want  nothing  here. 
Sin(/s. 

Ye  may  tipple,  and  tipple,  and  tipple,  all  out. 
Till  ye  bailie  the  stars,  and  the  sun  face  about. 

Away  with  your  drunken  song ;  have  you  nothing 

Fitter  to  please  the  ladies? 

Yes,  sir. 

Come  away  with  it  then. 

Host  sings. 
Most  excellent,  i'faith  I     Here's  to  thee,  honest  fellow. 
With   all    my   heart :    nay,    stay   a   little,    this   is   very 

good  wine. 
Here's  to  thee  again — hark,  you  honest  fellow, 
Let  me  speak  with  you  aside. 

D'ye  count  here  by  pieces,  or  d'ye  treat  by  the  head? 
I'll  treat  by  the  head,  sir,  if  you  please  ; 
A  crown  a  head,  and  you  shall  have  excellent  cheer. 
Wine  as  much   as  you  can  drink. 
That's  honestly  said  :  you  know  my  father,  friend ; 
'Tis  Monsieur  Cortaux. 

Yes,  sir,  the  famous  scrivener  here  of  Tours. 
Well,  treat  us  very  well  ;    I'll  see  thee  paid, 
^ay,  sir,  I'll  see  myself  paid,   I'll   warrant  you, 
Before  you  and  I  part. 

I  do  mean  it  so,  honest  friend,  but  prethee 
Speak  not  a  word  to  the  gentlemen,  for  then 
You  quite  disgrace,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant. 
Mum,  a  word  to  the  wise  is  enough. 
Come,  come,  friend,  where's  the  capon  of  Bruges 
You  last  spoke  of? 

Here  at  hand,  sir  ;  wife,  undo  my  helmet : 
This,   sir,   is  my  crest. 

A  very  improper  one   for  a   married  man. 
Yes,   faith   and   troth,   he  should   have  had  horns,   ha, 

ha,   ha ! 
Here's  to  ye,  noble  captain,  a  very  good  jest, 
As  I  am  a  gentleman. 
I    thank   you,    sir ! 
Methinks  you  are  melancholy,  sir ! 
Not   I,  sir,   I  can  assure  you  :   ladies,  how 
Like  ye  the  sport?  an  odd  collation,  but  well  contriv'd. 
The  contrivance  is  all  in  all. 

What  makes  my  brother  kneel ;  look,   look,  sister. 
Here's  a  health  to  our  noble  Colonel ; 
Gentlemen,   ye  see  'tis  a  good  one  ! 


MOTES 


■197 


189. 
195. 


201. 

202. 

« 

'207. 

416, 

209. 

213, 

214. 

223. 

17. 

417, 

40. 

56. 

Col. 

D'Elj). 
Host. 

Lamar. 
DElp. 

Host. 


Franc. 
D'Elp. 

Host. 


D'Elp. 


D'Elp.     Yes,  and  a  large  one,  but  if  both  drink  it, 
How  shall  we  lead  your  sisters  home? 
No  matter,   hem:  here  'tis,  gentlemen,  super  naculum ; 
Come,  come,  a  tansy,  sirrah,  quickly. 
Il'as  pos'd  ye  there,  mine  host. 
That's  as  time  shall  try,  look  ye  here,  sir  : 
The  lining  of  my  cap  is  good  for  something. 
Faith,   this  was  unlook'd  for. 

'Slish,  I  think  all  his  apparel  is  made  of  commendable 
Stuff:  has  he  not  gingerbread  shoes  on? 
No,  truly,  sir,  'tis  seldom  call'd  for  in  a  tavern  ; 
But  if  ye  call'd  for  a  dish  of  pettitoes,  'twere 
But  plucking  off  my   wife's  buskins. 
AVe'll  rather  believe  than  try. 
Could  you  procure  these  ladies  a  dish  of  cream. 
Sir,  this  will  shew  your  masterpiece  ! 
'Tis  the  only  weapon  I   fight  at :  look  ye, 
Gentlemen,   the  thunder  has  melted   my  sword  in   tne 

scabbard  ; 
But  'tis  good,  taste  it. 

Th'ast  my  verdict  to  be  the  wonder  of  hosts ; 
Shalt  have  a  patent  for  't  if  I  have  any 
Power   at    court.      [K.] 
^Vhat  man  is  this,  etc.     Cf.  113,   15G-158.      [K. ] 
'Tis  a  marvellous  good  one,  etc.     After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the 
following  : 

Bayes.     Now   there   are   some   critics   that   have   advis'd   me   to 
put  out  the  second  dare,  and  print  must  in  the  place  on't ; 
but,  i'gad,   I  think   't  is  better  thus  a  great  deal. 
Johns.     Whoo  I  a  thousand  times. 
Baijcs.     Go   on    then. 

A    note   to   the    1775   ed.    states :    "The   passage   last   cited 
from  The  Conquest  of  Granada  was  at  first  wrote : 

'He  who  dares  love  and  for  that  love  dares  die,' 
but  was  afterwards  amended  to   must  die."     But   the   reading 
must  is  already  found   in   the  lirst  edition;    the  note  is  prob- 
ably a  mere  inference  from  the  text  of  The  Rehearsal. 
You  shall  not  know,  etc.     Cf.  C3,  109,  110.      [K.] 
My  holds.     Q3  reads  your  boicls. 
Whoe'er,  etc.     Cf.  04,  124-128.      [K.] 
/  drink,  etc.     Cf.  93,  105,  106.      [K.] 

As   fast    represented.     Q3   reads :    "As   fast   as    they    can 

possible  come  upon  the  stage." 
Roman  clothes.     Omitted  In  Q3. 
/  lore  reasoning  in  verse.     Cf.  348,  161,  n. 
Eyes  makes.     Cf.  74,  51,  n. 
Were  all  gods  join'd,  etc. 

Alaximin.     Thou  li'st : — there's  not  a  god  inhabits  there. 
But  for  this  Christian  would  all  heav'n  forswear. 
Ev'n  Jove  would  try  more  shapes  her  love  to  win,    "i 
And  In  new  birds  and  unknown  beasts  would  sin  ;   l 
At  least.  If  Jove  could  love  like  Maximln.  J 

Tyrannic  Love,  II.  Hi   (Ss.  ill.  407).      [K.] 


498  NOTES 

418,      60.     Diiisf  any,  etc. 

(a)  Maximin.     Somo  god  now,  if  he  dares,  relate  what's  past ; 

Say  but  he's  dead,  that  god  shall  mortal  be. 
Ihid.  I.  i   (Ss.  ill.   393).      [K.] 

(b)  Max.     Provoke  my  rage  no  farther,  lest  I  be 

Reveng'd  at  once  upon  the  gods  and  thee. 
Ihid.   I.   i    (Ss.   Hi.   395).      [K.] 

(c)  Max.     What  had  the  gods  to  do  with  me  or  mine? 

Ihid.  V   (Ss.  iii.  463).     [K.] 
60,  61.      Uiiciril:  devil.     For  the  rime  compare  the  form  divil   (402,  30)  ; 
the  same  rime  is  found  in  383,  23,  24. 
62.     Ah,  godsookers,  etc.     After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the   stage-direc- 
tion,  "Scratching  his  head,  his  peruke  falls  off." 
72.     But,  Mr.  Bayes,  etc.     Q3  expands  this  speech  into  the  following 
passage : 

Johns.  I  wonder  how  the  coxcomb  has  got  the  knack  of  writ- 
ing smooth  verse  thus. 
Bmi.  Why,  there's  no  need  of  brain  for  this ;  't  is  but  scan- 
ning the  labors  on  [so  Q6 ;  Q3  reads  in'\  the  finger:  but 
Where's  the  sense  of  it? 
Johns.  O,  for  that,  he  desires  to  be  excus'd  :  he  is  too  proud 
a  man  to  creep  servilely  after  sense,  I  assure  you.  But 
pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  why  is  this  scene  all  in  verse? 

On   the  last   of  these   speeches  the  Key  of  1704   refers  to 
lines  in  the  prologue  of  Dryden's  Tyrannic  Love  (Ss.  iii.  383)  : 

Poets,  like  lovers,  should  be  bold  and  dare ; 

They  spoil   their  business  with  an   over-care  ; 

And  he  who  servilely  creeps  after  sense. 

Is  safe,  but  ne'er  will  reach  an  excellence. 

Dryden  defends  this  in  his  preface  to  the  play  (Ss.  iii. 
381)  as  an  imitation  of  Horace's  serpit  humi  tutus,  etc. 
(Ars  Poet.  28). 
73.  The  subject  is  too  great  for  prose,  v.  7,  1-31  ;  cf.  Introduction, 
pp.  xxiii,  xxiv,  xxx.  xxxi. 
4.  That  great  scene  in  Harry  the  Eight.  The  trial  scene  (act  II, 
sc.  iv)  in  Henry  VIII  was  always  noted  for  its  spectacular 
effect,  and  Davenant's  revival  of  the  play  in  1663  was  par- 
ticularly magnificent.  Downes  writes :  "This  play,  by  order 
of  Sir  William  Davenant,  was  all  new-clothed  in  proper  habits. 
The  king's  was  new,  all  the  lords,  the  cardinals,  the  bishops, 

the  doctors,  proctors,  lawyers,  tip-staves,   new  scenes 

Every  part,  by  the  great  care  of  Sir  William,  being  exactly  per- 
formed, it  being  all  new  clothed  and  new  scenes,  it  continued 
acting  fifteen  days  together  with  general  applause."  (Roscius 
Anglicanus,  ed.  Knight,  1886,  p.  24.)  See  also  Introduction, 
p.  XX,  n.  3.— The  form  eight  (cf.  fift,  sixt)  was  often  used  as 
an  ordinal  numeral  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
6.     /  have  brought  in  two  other  cardinals.     Q3  reads  /  bring  in  here 

four  cardinals. 
9.     /    won't   tell   you.     After   these   words   Q3   adds:    "Your  country 
friend,  sir^  grows  so  troublesome  !" 
11.     Now   sir,   etc.     After    this    speech    Q3    adds     one     by     the     Kin^ 
Physician  :  "Speak,  Volscius." 


NOTES  199 

419,      25.     What  sound  is  this  invades  our  cars? 

Alphunso.     What  various  noises  do  mine  oars  invade. 
And  have  a  consort  of  confusion  made? 

Davena.nt,  The  Sicuc  of  Rhodes,  I'art  I,  entry  i.      [K.l 
35.     Tlie  two  right  Kings  of  Brentford,  etc. 

Nakar  and  Damilcar  descend  in  clouds,  and  sing. 
Hakar.     Hark,  my   Damilcar,  we  are  call'd  helow  ! 
Dam.     Let  us  go,  let  us  go  ! 
Go  to  relieve  the  care 
Of  longing  lovers  in  despair ! 
Nakar.     Merry,  merry,  merry,  we  sail  from  the  east, 
Half  tippled  at  a  rainbow  feast. 
Dam.     In  the  bright  moonshine  while  winds  whistle  loud, 
Tivy,  tivy,   tivy,  we  mount  and  we  fly, 
All   racking  along   in   a  downy  white  cloud  : 
And  lest  our  leap  from  the  sky  should   prove  too  far. 
We  slide  on  the  back  of  a  new-falling  star. 
Nakar.     And  drop  from  above 
In  a  jelly  of  love  ! 
Dam.     But  now   the  sun's  down,  and  the  element's  red. 
The  spirits  of  fire  against  us  make  head  ! 
Nakar.     They  muster,  they  muster,  like  gnats  in  the  air  : 
Alas  :    I  must  leave  thee,  my  fair  ; 
And  to  my  light  horsemen  repair. 
Dam.     O  stay,  for  you  need  not  to  fear  'em   (o-night; 

The  wind  is  for  us,  and  blows  full  in  their  sight: 

And  o'er  the  wide  ocean  we  fight  1 

Like  leaves  in   the  autumn   our  foes  will  fall  down; 

And  hiss  in  the  water 

Nakar.     But   their  men   lie  securely   intrench'd   in   a  cloud, 
Both.      And  hiss  in  the  water  and  drown  ! 

And  a  trumpeter-hornet  to  battle  sounds  loud. 
Dam.     Now   mortals  that  spy 
How  we  tilt  in  the  sky. 
With  wonder  will  gaze  ; 

And  fear  such  events  as  will  ne'er  come  to  pass! 
Nakar.     Stay  you  to  perform  what  the  man  will  have  done. 
Dam.     Then  call  me  again   when  the  battle  is  won. 
Both.     So  ready  and  quick  is  a  spirit  of  air 
To  pity  the  lover,  and  succor  the  fair. 
That,  silent  and  swift,  the  little  soft  god 
Is  here  with  a  wish,  and   is  gone  with  a  nod. 

The  clouds  part;  Nakar  ^les  up,  and  Damilcar  down. 
Tyrannic  Love,  act  IV   (Ss.  iii.  421,  422).      [K.] 
49.     Pettitoes.     Professor  Arbor  by  a  misprint  here  reads  Pretty-toes. 
4S80,      81,  82.     This    /   thought  once  to  have  brought  in  with  a  con- 
jurer.    Such   is  really  the  case  with  the   passage  just  quoted 
from  Tyrannic  Love.      [K.] 
421.    lis.     That's  true,  etc.     Q3  omits  this  speech. 

125.  What  dreadful  noise,  etc.     Cf.   77,   21.      [K.] 

126.  Haste  hence,  etc.     Cf.   78.   76-79.      [K.] 

After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the  following  : 
Bayes.     Is  not   that   now    a    pretty   kind   of   a   stanza,    and   a 
handsome  come-off"^ 


500  NOTES 

45858,  142.      At  door.     Cf.  334,  01,  n. 

148.  Presenilii.     Immediately. 

149.  Can    you    think    it   a   decent    thintj,   etc.     For   Dryden's   views    on 

theatrical  decorum,  see  11,  1-1.5,  and  An  Essay  of  Dramatic 
Poesy  (Ss.  XV.  323-327,  336-338).  Cf.  Introduction,  pp.  xvi!, 
xxiii. 
156.  /  sum  up  my  whole  battle,  etc.  "There  needs  nothing  more  to 
explain  the  meaning  of  this  battle  than  the  perusal  of  the 
first  part  of  The  Sieye  of  Rhodes,  which  was  performed  in 
recitative  music  by  seven  persons  only,  and  the  passage  out  of 
The  Playhouse  to  he  Let."     Key,  1704. 

Quotations  from  71w  Sieyc  of  Rhodes  are  given  in  nn.  422, 
184  ;  423,  187. 

In    Davenanfs  Playhouse   to   he   Let,   act   IV,   entry  ill   con- 
cludes with   a  song  having  the  following  chorus  : 
Now  rigid  war  Is  come,  and  peace  is  gone  ; 
Fear  governs  us,  and  jealousy  the  throne. 
Ambition   hath  our  chiefs  possessed  ; 
All  now  are  wak'd,  all  are   alarm'd  : 
The  weary  know  not  where  to  rest, 
Nor  dare  the  harmless  be  unarm'd. 

A  stage  direction  follows  : 

"After  this  song  a  warlike  air  is  play'd.  to  which  succeeds 
a  martial  dance,  perform'd  by  four  Peruvians,  arm'd  with 
glaives,  who  enter  severally  from  opposite  sides  of  the  wood, 
and  express  by  their  motions  and  gestures  the  fury  of  that 
civil  war,  which,  by  the  ambition  of  the  younger  brother,  has 
engag'd  their  country,  and  then  depart  in  pursuit  of  each 
other." 

Entry  iv  then  opens  with  the  following  stage-direction  : 

"A  symphony,  consisting  of  four  tunes,  prepares  the  change 
of  the  scene,  which  represents  a  great  Peruvian  army  put  to 
flight  by  a  small  body  of  Spaniards.  This  object  is  produc'd 
in  pursuance  of  the  main  argument,  for  the  Spaniards  having 
first  bred  an  amazement  in  the  natives  by  the  noise  and  fire 
of  their  guns,  and  having  afterwards  subverted  the  elder  Inca 
by  assisting  the  younger,  did  in  a  short  time  attain  the 
dominion  over  both  by  conquest." 
164.  Represents  fighting  enough.  Q3  concludes  Bayes's  speech  with 
these  words,  and  adds  the  following  passage  : 
Johns.     Aye,  aye ;   so  much,   that,  if  I   were  in  your  place,   I 

would   make   'em   go   out   again   without   ever   speaking   one 

word. 
Bayes.     No,  there  you  are  out,  for  I  make  each  of  'em  hold  a 

lute  in  his  hand. 
181.       /  have  contriv'd  it  both   ways.     Cf.   412,   43-55.     The  recitativo 
fashion  is  a  parody  of  Davenant,  and  the  fighting,  of  Dryden. 

After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the  following  passage : 
Johns.     Aye,   now   you   are   right :   there  is   nothing   then   can 

be  objected  against  it. 
Bayes.     True  :  and  so,  I'gad,  I'll  make  it,  too,  a  tragedy  in  a 

trice. 

On  this  the  Key  of  1704  gives  the  following  note : 


NOTES  501 

"Aglaurn  [by  Sir  .Tolin  Suckling]  and  The  Vestal  Virgin 
[by  Sir  Rot)ert  Howard]  arc  so  contrived  by  a  little  altcratioa 
towards  the  latter  end  of  them,  that  they  have  been  acted  both 
ways,  either  as  tragedies  or  comedies." 

Sir  William  Killigrew's  Pandora,  after  failing  as  a  tragedy, 
was   remodeled   into   a  comedy. 
184.     Arm,  arm,  etc.     ''The  Sic<je  of  Rhodes  begins  thus  : 

Admiral.     Arm,  arm,   Villerius,  arm  !"     Key,  1704. 
423,   187.     Draw   doun    the   Chelsea   curiasiers. 

(a)  "The  third  entry  in   TIic  Siege  of  Rhodes  is  thus: 
Solyman.     I'yrrhus,  draw  up  our  army  wide  ! 

Then  from  the  gross  two  strong  reserves  divide ; 

And  spread  the  wings ; 
As  if  we  were  to  fight, 
In   the   lost   Uhodians'   sight, 

With   all   the   western   kings! 
Each  wing  with  .Janizaries  line  ; 
The  right  and   left   to  Ilaly's  sons  assign. 

The   gross   to   Zangiban. 
The   main   artillery 
With   Mustapha  shall  be  : 

Bring  thou  the  rear,  we  lead  the  van."    Notes,  177.5. 

(b)  "At  the  bosinning  of  entry  r  is : 
Mustai^ha.     I'oiut  well  the  cannons  and  play  fast '. 

Their   fury   is    too   hot   to   last. 
That  rampire  shakes,    they   fly   into   the   town. 
Pyrrhus.     March  up  with  those  reserves  to  that  redoubt! 

Faint  slaves!    the  .Tanizaiies  reel! 

They  bend,  they  bend  !  and  seem  to  feel 
The  terrors  of  a  rout. 
Musta.     Old  Zanger  halts,  and  reinforcement  lacks  ! 
Pyr.     March  on ! 

Musta.     Advance  those  pikes,  and  charge  their  backs  !" 

[Arber,  from  K.] 

(c)  Drake  Junior.     More  pikes  !  more  pikes  !  to  reinforce 
That   squadron,   and    repulse    the   horse. 

The  Playhouse  to  he  Let,  act  III,  entry  vi.  [K. ] 

196.  Petty  France.  This,  as  shown  by  Ogilby's  map  of  London.  1<'>77. 
reproduced  in  Besant's  London  in  the  Time  of  the  Stuarts, 
was  a  street  in  London  near  Moorflelds. 
45J4.  2.'!.S.  The  Slighted  Maid.  By  Sir  Robert  Stapylton  ;  cf.  n.  3!».".  loL 
The  Key  of  1704  refers  to  the  following  extract  from  act  \' 
of  the  play    (pp.  80-83,  ed.  1603)  : 

Enter   Aurora   in   a    black   veil  hclow. 
Song   in   dialogue. 
Aur.     Phcpbus? 
Phah.     Who  calls  the  world's  great  light? 

Aur.     Aurora,  that  abhors  the  night. 
Phah.     Why  docs  Aurora  from  her  cloud 
To  drowsy  Phcrbus  cry  so  loud? 
Aur.      Put   on   thy  beams;   rise    (no   regard 
To  a  young  goddess,  that  lies  hard 
In  th'  old  man's  bosom?)   rise  for  shame, 
And   shine   mv   cloud   into   a   llarae. 


602 


NOTES 


Phwb. 
Aur, 


Phab. 
Aur. 


Phab. 


Attr. 


Phab. 

Aur. 


Ph(Bt\ 


Aur. 
Phab 


Aur. 


Phwb. 


Oblige  me  not  beyond  my  pow'r, 
I  must  not  rise  before  my  hour. 
Before  thy  hour?     Look  down,  and  see, 
In  vain   the   Persian   kneels   to   thee, 
And  I    (mock'd  by  the  glimm'ring  shade) 
A  sad  mistake  in  Naples  made  ; 
Like  I'liny,   I   had  lost  my  life, 
If  I  had  been  a  mortal  wife. 
Thou  cam'st  too  near  the  burning  mount 
Vesuvio  ? 

Upon    thy   account, 
For  I  took  clouds  of  smoke  and  fire, 
(Which  here  from  Vulcan's  court  expire,) 
For  morning-streaks,  blue,  white,   and  red. 
That  rouse  me  from  cold  Tithon's  bed. 

[Phoebus  enters  with  his  bcauia  on. 
Charge  not  upon  me  for  a  crime. 
That  I  stay'd  th'  utmost  point  of  time. 
Before  I  would  put  off  my  bays. 
And  on  Naples  shed  my  rays, 
Where  such  a  mischief  they  have  done. 
As  will  make  Venus  hate  the  sun, 
Discovering  to  Vulcan's  eye 
Where  she  and  JIars  embracing  lie. 
I'm  sorry  Mars  and  Venus  had 
Such  privacy  ;  but  I   am  glad 
That  Phoebus  does  at  last  appear 
To  shine  away  Aurora's  fear. 
What  frighted  thee? 

I  know  not  what  : 
But  thou    know'st   all;   what  noise   is   that? 

[Within  Vulcan  roars  out:     "No  work,  rogues?" 
'Tis  Vulcan,  in  a  greater  heat 
Than  th'  irons  by  his  Cyclops  beat : 
He  makes  the  horror  of  that  noise. 
Teaching  and  knocking  his  great  boys, 
From  hamm'ring  out  Jove's  thunder,   set 
To  file  and  polish  Vulcan's  net. 
Which  he'll  catch  Mars  and  Venus  in. 
What  now?  [Laughing   within. 

To   huigh   the   smiths   begin  : 
At  furious  Vulcan  halting  off. 
To  measure  his  wife's  bed,  they  scoflf. 
I'll   leave  the  place  ;  I   can  no  more 
Endure    the    laughter   than    the    roar. 

[Tuning  ivithin. 
Ilark,  they  record  ;  they'll  sing  anon  : 
'Tis  time  for  I'hoebus  to  be  gone  ; 
For  when   such  lyric  asses  bray. 
The  God  of  Music  cannot  stay. 

[Exeunt   Phoebus  and  AnnoRA. 
The   Cyclop.^'  song    (within). 
Cry   our   ware,   sooty  fellows 
Of  the  forge  and  the  bellows ; 


NOTES  508 

Has  Jove  any  oaks  to  rend? 
Has    Ceres   sickles    to    mend? 
Wants  Neptune  a  water-fork? 
All  these  are  the  Cyclops'  work  ; 
But  to  wiredraw  iron  rods, 
To  file  nets  to  catch  the  gods. 
What  can  make  our  fingers  so  fine? 
Drink,  drink,  wine,  Lipari  wine. 

Chorus. 
Smoke,  smoke  breeds  the  tisic  ; 
Wine,  wine's  the  best  physic  ; 
For  every  Cyclop   a   full   can. 
Our  terms  run  thus  : 
Some  wine  for  us, 
Or  no  net  for  our  Master  Vulcan. 
241.     Xo   doubt,  etc.     Here   Q3  expands   the   test  somewhat: 

Johns.     No  doubt  on  "t,  Mr.  Bayes  ;  a  great  deal  better. 

[Bayks  hufjs  JoHXSox,  then  turns  to  S.mith. 
Dayes.     Ah    dear   rogue  !     But   — a —   sir  ;    you   have   heard,    I 
suppose,  etc. 
254.     Joke.     After  this  word  Q3  continues  :  "I  bring  'em  in  all  singing, 
and  make,   etc." 
Sell    the    earth    a     barfjain.       ScUiny    baryains    was    a    sort    of 
low   buffoonery   which    Dryden   stigmatizes   among   the   sins   of 
Shadwell     in    his    comedies;    see    Mac    Flecknue,    1.    181.     .\s 
Christie  explains  in  his  note    (Globe  edition,   p.    150)    it   "was 
a  trick  of  answering  innocent  questions  with.. coarse  words." 
See  the  following  note. 
2G1.     Luna  means,  etc.     After  this  speech  Q3  adds  : 
"Bai/es.     There's  the  bargain." 

Enter  Sol.     Q3  adds  "to  the  tune  of  Robin  Hood." 
272.     Then  I  will  shine.     Q3  adds,  "to  the  tunc  of  Trenchmorc." 
425,    275.     And  wc,  etc.     After  this  speech  Q3  adds  the  following  passage  : 

[.Is  they  danec  the  hey,   B.vve.s  sycaks. 
Bayes.     Now    the   earth's   before    the    moon ;   now    the   moon's 

before  the  sun  :  there's  the  eclipse  again. 
Smi.     He's  mightily  taken  with  this,  I  see. 
Johns.     Aye ;  't  is  so  extraordinary,  how  can  he  choose. 
288,   280.     /  hare  read hundred   more.     For  these   words   Q3  sub- 
stitutes:    "You   may   talk  of  your   Hectors  and  Achilles,   and 
I  know  not  who." 
298.     7'//  show  you  yo  off.     Q'J  reads:     "I'll  show  you   how  they  shall 
go  off." 

"Valeria,  daughter  to  Maximin.  having  killed  herself  for 
the  love  [ofj  I'orphyrius.  when  she  was  to  be  carried  off  by 
the  bearers,  strikes  one  of  them  a  box  on  the  ear,  and  speaks 
to   him    thus : 

Hold;  are  you  mad?     You  damn'd  confounded  dog! 
1  am  to  rise,  and  si)eak  the  epilogue  [Ss.  iii.  4(57)." 

Kky.    17(»4. 
308.     Stay,    here's,    etc.     Q3    expands    this    speech    into    the    following 
passage : 

1  Play.     What  shall  we  do,  now  he  Is  gone  away? 

2  Play.     Why,  so  much  the  better  ;  then  let's  go  to  dinner. 


504  NOTES 

3  Play.     Staj',   here's  a  foul   piece  of  paper  of  his.     Let's  see 

what  't  is. 
3  or  -i  I'lotj.     Aye,  aye  :  come  let's  hear  it. 

After  the  reading  of  the  paper,  Q3  adds : 
"This  will  never  do  :   't  is  itist  like   the  rest.     Come,  let's  be 
gone."  i 

426,  318.     1  riay.     Pox  on  't,  etc.     For  tfiis  speech  Q3  substitutes : 

Most  of  the  Play.     Aye,  pox  on  't,  let's  go  away. 

324.  Enter   Players    again.      For    this    Q3    substitutes,    -Enter    Siaye- 

kecper"  [i.  e.  janitor],  and  of  course  changes  the  following 
speech-headings  from  Play,  to  Stage. 

325.  Sir,  they  arc  gone  to  dinner.     Arber  quotes  from   Bishop   Percy  : 

"About  the  time  of  the  Restoration  and  for  some  years  after, 
the  fashionable  hour  of  dining  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  the 
play  began  at  three."  He  then  adds :  •'The  Rehearsal  is 
therefore  supposed  to  take  place  in  the  morning."  Cf.  390, 
62  f. 

The  statement  that  the  play  began  at  three  is  based  on  a 
notice  published  with  the  16.58  edition  of  Davenant's  Cruelty 
of  the  Spaniards  in  Peru.  Drydon's  prologue  for  the  produc- 
tion of  The  Wild  Gallant  in  16G3  (Ss.  ii.  29)  shows  that  the 
time  of  beginning  was  then  half  past  three. 

33-9.     Toicn.     Q3  reads  company. 

340.     That's  all  one.     This  and  the  following  three  speeches  are  some- 
what altered  in  Q3  : 

Bayes.  That's  all  one.  I  must  reserve  this  comfort  to  my- 
self :  my  play  and  I  shall  go  together,  we  will  not  part 
indeed,  sir. 

Stage.     But  what  will   the  town  say,   sir? 

Bayes.  The  town  !  why,  what  care  I  for  the  town  ?  I'  gad, 
the  town  has  us'd  me  as  scurvily  as  the  players  have  done ; 
but  I'll  be  reveng'd  on  them  too,  for  I'll  lampoon  'em  all. 
And  since  they  will  not  admit  of  my  plays,  they  shall  know 
what  a  satirist  I  am.  And  so  farewell  to  this  stage,  i'  gad, 
forever.  [Exit   Bayes. 

Enter  Players. 

1  Play.     Come  then,  let's  set  up  bills  for  another  play. 

2  Play.     Aye,   aye ;   we  shall   lose  nothing  by   this,    I   warrant 

you. 
1  Play.     I   am   of  your  opinion.      But,   before   we  go,   let's   see 
Haynes  and  Shirley  practice  the  last  dance,  for  that  may 
serve  us  another  time. 

427,  12.     That    afflicts.       The    relative    in     Shakspcre    frequently    takes    a 

singular  verb,  even  though  the  antecedent  be  plural ;  see 
Abbott,  A  Shakespearian  Grammar,  §  247. 


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